50 Ways to A First Kiss
by ColieMacKenzie
Summary: A collection of Castle and Beckett first kisses! Number Eighteen: "Dare You To Move."
1. 1 Mother Knows Best

**50 Ways to A First Kiss**

**AN:** This is going to be a collection of unrelated scenes that will explore different first kiss scenarios for Beckett and Castle. They will be of different lengths and moods. They will be written whenever inspiration strikes, so I can make no promises of updates on any regular schedule.

This will also be my personal writing Everest, if you will, where I am challenging myself to come up with 50 unique scenarios and actually writing them. Therefore, encourage me with your feedback as much as possible, please, so I know that there is interest and it's worth the mental acrobatics. :-)

Honor is due to a wonderful writer, TR-Fanfic, who has done a fantastic "50 Ways to Say I Love You" for another fandom and has graciously let me adapt the idea for the Castle world. Thank you my Love!

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><p><em><strong>#1 Mother Knows Best <strong>_

She rushes along the long corridor, the flaps of her open coat fluttering along her legs, scarf streaming behind her back, clothes haphazardly thrown on in her rush to leave her apartment. The numbers fly by her left and right; she skims them, searching.

She stops when she reaches room 213, takes a deep breath, steals herself for what may come. She raps on the door, twice in quick succession, then opens it to step inside.

"Castle?"

He lifts his head when he hears her call his name. He is sitting close by the bedside, his hand cradling his mother's. Martha is stretched out under the thin hospital covers, unconscious or sleeping, she doesn't know. She looks hollowed out, her red hair radiating against the white pillowcase, a stark contrast to her pale face.

Her insides clench, a wave of fear and heartache shocking her system.

"Kate." His voice is full of gratitude and that shocks her too. She turns her face back to look at him, and her legs start to move, almost involuntary, needing to be close to him.

"Hey," she whispers, coming to stand next to him. She rests her hand on his shoulder. "How is she?"

He turns to look at his mother again, caresses the back of her hand with his thumb. "She had a heart attack."

Flutters of anxiety take hold in her tummy. She squeezes his shoulder.

"It was a very mild one, luckily," he continues. He lifts his other arm, and covers Kate's hand that is lying on his shoulder with his. She scoots slightly closer, the side of her body resting against his. He exhales on a long drawn-out breath and leans more of his weight against her side.

This constitutes more physical contact than they usually allow themselves, but if Castle needs her, she will be there. He always is for her.

"She'll need to make some changes in her diet and living habits, but she's okay."

Warmth floods through her, a constant flow of relief, and she laces her fingers through his.

He turns his head, looks up at her and there are so many emotions layered on his face, fear and regret and anxiety, his eyes welling up, and it clenches her heart and so she turns toward him, slides her fingers through his hair, along his scalp, curls them through the shorter stubbles at the back of his neck.

"She's going to be okay," she repeats his words back at him, her voice soft, reassuring. "She'll be fine."

She brings her hand around, delicately traces her fingertips over his cheek. He takes a deep, shuddering breath, calming himself.

"Thank you for being here."

She smiles. "Always."

"Oh good grief, Richard, will you just kiss her already or do I_ actually_ have to die before you two figure things out?" Martha's voice cracks through the silence between them, raspier than usual but no less spunky. Kate jumps away, her cheeks blushing to a delicate rosy shade.

"Martha," she calls out in surprise, then smiles at the older woman and walks around the hospital bed to her other side. "How are you feeling?"

"Hey Kiddo," Martha relaxes against her pillow, turns her head toward Kate. "I've never been better," she jokes. Kate laughs, and Martha reaches for the younger woman's hand, squeezes it within hers.

Kate covers her surprise quickly, smiles, squeezes back. From the corner of her eye, she sees Castle get up, grab another chair and put it behind her, urging her to sit down.

"Richard darling, go get the girl some good coffee," Martha orders her son, and so he leans forward to kiss his mother on the forehead.

"Yes Mother," he obliges with a laugh in his voice.

Then he turns, leans down, and plants a big noisy kiss on Kate's lips.

Her eyes go wide; she stares at him, tries to formulate a response, can't think.

He shrugs, nods toward Martha. "She told me to."

And before Kate can catch herself enough to reply, he walks out of the room.

(…)

When he comes back into the room, Kate meets him at the door. They step back outside together.

"I have to head to the station now," she lets him know, facing him, and he nods. Silence snakes between them, not quite awkward, not quite heavy, and a little expectant.

Castle bounces on the balls of his feet. "What did you two talk about?"

Kate smirks. "None of your business, Castle," she teases him. But then her smile transforms, turns warm and soft toward him, and she steps just a little closer, within the realm of his arms, outstretched on either side of her as he holds a Starbucks cup in each hand.

She knows, this is crossing all their lines, but the mood from earlier still lingers, reminding her how being by his side became the only place she needed to be. Urgently.

Reaching up, she places her hands on his chest, looks up at him. She feels his breath hitch against her palms, his heart speeding up.

"Will you be alright?"

"Yeah," he answers, stuttering on the word. He clears his throat. "Yeah I'll be okay. She'll get released later this afternoon. I'll bring her home, take care of her. And, keep her away from the vodka…"

She smiles. "You're a good man Rick." A good son, good father, a good…

She trails her hands up his pecs, over his shoulders, his neck, until she cradles his face, a hand on each cheek. Her thumbs caress the tender skin under his eyes, and she leans closer.

"A _good_ man," she whispers near his mouth, her breath fanning across his skin. He is tense, she can feel his restraint, and she takes a second, an infinite moment to savor the anticipation suspended within the space between them. And then she closes the distance and kisses him.

His lips are soft, flavorful. She caresses his mouth with hers, gently outlines the shape of his lips, nips and tastes and it's good, so good, and she holds onto him, pulling his face closer against her, wants more of him, more. His moan vibrates against her or maybe it was hers, so she slowly, reluctantly pulls away, remembering they are still in public.

His stunned look makes her smile blissfully. She nods her head toward his mother's hospital room.

"She told me to," she winks.

Then she plucks her coffee cup out of his hand and saunters away, adding an extra swing to her hip. Secure in knowing that he will stare after her.

"Kate? Wait!" He calls after her. "What _else _did she tell you?"

_End of Scene_


	2. 2 Save Me

**AN: **I am completely blown away by the number of story alerts and favorites placed on this story, and the lovely reviews I've received. How incredible, thank you all so much! Hope this next one won't disappoint.

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><p><em><strong>#2 Save Me<strong>_

"Nooooo!" He screamed, a strangled sound torn from the depths of his soul, the fear so encompassing that for an immeasurable moment, he could not move.

The stark metallic bang still reverberated in his ears, echoed against the walls of the empty warehouse. He could only watch, feel his heart shatter when she fell. Almost as if in slow motion, like a rerun of a bad, atrocious movie. One he'd seen before.

'_Not again, no please dear God not again…' _

The impact had her reeling, her upper body vaulted backwards, knocking her off her feet. The momentum carried her through the air and, flat as a board, she hit the cold concrete, hard, her head, shoulders, butt, feet hitting the ground as one, forcefully.

"Kate!" He rushed to her, knelt down between her legs, grabbed her shoulders. He was oblivious to the shouted orders telling him not to move, stay behind, oblivious to Esposito taking down the suspect who had fired his first shot at Beckett, oblivious to the bellows and hectic activity of the squad securing the area, calling for backup, shouting for an ambulance.

He leaned over her, slid a hand behind her neck, the other touching her face, stroking forehead and cheekbone and the slide of her chin.

"Kate, please wake up," he urged her, "Don't do this to me again…" He pleaded with her, running his hand down her torso. Couldn't feel the wetness he expected, like last time, but it didn't register. Couldn't see the stark blood soaking through her clothes in the dim lighting, like he did last time. His hand did not come away sticky but it didn't register either. He only saw her body, lying motionless on the ground, her pale face barely illuminated by the glimmer of daylight that snaked through the boarded up windows.

He leaned closer to her face, cradled her head, ran his fingers through her silky hair, and over her face again. He knew, if her heart stopped this time, so would his.

"Please don't leave me again Kate!" He cried, didn't feel the hot tears running down his cheeks.

She groaned. He felt the vibration from her chest into his, and he stopped; moving, touching her, breathing.

"Cas…" She choked, her voice almost soundless at first. She wiggled her fingers, struggled to move, tried to sit up.

"Shhh…" He whispered, held her in place. "Shhh Baby, don't move, help will be here soon."

But she struggled again, slowly lifted her right arm, then her hand dropped onto her chest heavily.

"V…" She started, cleared her throat. "Vest, Castle," she pointed out.

It took a moment for her words to reach his brain. She was… oh. _Oh._ And only now did he register the large white print spelling out POLICE across her chest. He tested his fingers against the thick padding covering her torso, felt the bullet stuck in the lining against his probing fingertips. _Oh God…_

She moved again, carefully tried to lift her upper body, and suddenly he grabbed her, his hands under her armpits, pulling her up and against his chest. He wrapped his arms around her back and held her tightly to him. His head dropped to her shoulder and his face against her neck, breathing her in. He could feel her pulse pounding under the soft thin skin, and relief washed over him so strongly that he couldn't hold it in, could only choke back his tears, breathe against her skin, pull her tighter to him.

"'S okay Castle…" she whispered to him, "I'm okay…" She felt the wetness where the tear tracks from his cheeks pressed against the skin of her neck.

"Don't leave me again," he murmured once more, his voice almost inaudible, muffled against her collarbone.

It hit her hard, the intensity of pain he was feeling; it clogged her throat, clenched her tummy. The agony he must've been feeling when she really was bleeding out under his hands, when she didn't call him for three months. She never meant to hurt him so.

"Shhhh," she comforted him, her mouth against his ear. She pulled away slightly, nudged her shoulder against his head until he looked at her, needing to see his face. She brought up her hands, ran her fingers across his forehead. Traced the shape of his eyebrows, the rise of his cheekbones and the dimpled valleys underneath. Mapped the topography of his face, at once so familiar and yet achingly new.

"I won't leave you Rick," she promised, holding his gaze. Twisting her fingers in the fabric of his lapels, she held on tightly, desperately, mooring herself to him.

Dropping her forehead so it rested against his, she took a deep breath. Her chest ached, her ribs sore from the impact of the bullet, but she didn't care, it didn't matter, nothing mattered except for this man, here with her. And so she set them free; these words that had been clogging her throat for so long, because she wanted to say them now, because she finally could.

"I love you."

With something akin to a whimper, he hauled her tightly against him again, a hand cradling her head, moving it in position so she would look up at him.

And then his mouth was on her and he kissed her, slanted his lips to hers, frantic and needy. She opened up to him immediately, her mouth granting access to his hot probing tongue, and she met him with fervor, wanting nothing more than to dive in with him, now. His kiss was almost feverish, full of ache, so desperate and needing that she whimpered, pushed deeper inside his mouth. She clung to him, poured all the heartache and unacknowledged love into kissing him, transforming it into something new, something wondrous and beautiful.

At last they pulled apart, slowly, reluctantly. He smiled at her, warmth and so much love in his eyes that her cheeks flushed again. She touched her fingers to his face again, felt his heated skin.

"Castle…" She sighed contentedly, smiling warmly at him. Then she playfully narrowed her eyebrows at him.

"Did you call me 'Baby'?"

"_And_ copped a feel," he added proudly, winking at her. She laughed, followed by a wince when the movement rippled the muscles in her chest.

He got up off the floor, then helped her up until she had found her balance. She took a couple of steadying breaths, then hooked her arm through his, leaning against his side.

"Let's get out of here."

_End of Scene_


	3. 3 One Thousand Seventeen Miles

_**AN:** Did Castle just turn totally X-Files on us (episode 4x12, Dial M for Murder)? Cigarette-smoking mystery man meeting up with Mulder in dark creepy parking garages and such, anyone? (This has nothing to do with this story; I'm just sayin'.)_

_Anyway,Happy Castle Monday! _

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><p><strong>#3 One Thousand Seventeen Miles<strong>

It's been three weeks and she feels strangely off-kilter. Her coffee tastes blander when she has to buy it herself. She sips and paces in front of the murder board, trying to make sense of the convoluted connections between her four suspects. Castle would like this one, she thinks, smiling to herself; a case involving competitive Scrabble players. Oh all the word jokes she's missing out on!

She sighs, sits back against the table. Missing the way he'd get a theory started; crazy though it might be, it always got her brain going.

Sometimes they text. Not every day or on any kind of regular schedule, but he'll check in with her, send her funny comments or observations from his trip that he thinks she might appreciate. She catches herself with a silly smile on her face more times than not when she receives one of his messages.

She knows where he is on his book tour; he handed her his travel schedule before he left and she doesn't like to acknowledge how often she checks it. Minneapolis today.

She may as well admit that she misses him. The innuendoes and suggestions that make her days more fun; the way he can get a smile out of her when she's about to lose faith in the world. His smile and the tender feelings he holds for her, unacknowledged but so clearly visible in his eyes.

Sometimes she forgets what she's still waiting for.

It's been three weeks already, and there's another three to go.

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><p>She's in bed when her phone signals a text. Who'd be texting her at eleven thirty at night?<p>

'_Still awake, Beckett?'_

She smiles. Castle. '_Yes, though in my pajamas already_,' she texts back. She can't resist teasing him because he's far away and it's safe this way and she knows he really likes it when she teases him. She can almost see the appreciative gleam in his eyes.

It takes a few minutes longer than she expected for him to answer. And then there's a knock at her door. His text arrives simultaneously.

'_Care to let me in?'_

Her mind screeches to a halt, and she scrambles out of bed and through her apartment. She feels giddy, her tummy in delicious little flutters, because he shouldn't even be here but he is and she missed him. But she schools her features, happy grin transformed into slightly exasperated smile, and opens the door to him.

His eyes light up when he sees her, smiling warmly at her for a moment. Then he lets his gaze wander, exaggeratedly runs his gaze down her body, then back up.

"Cotton, Beckett?" He takes in her leggings and the oversized sleep shirt. "A bit of a letdown, I must say."

"You flew a thousand miles to scrutinize my pajamas?"

"1,017 miles, actually," he clarifies, stepping into her apartment.

"I was cold." He turns to face her. "You know how cold it is up there?"

She laughs, a happy delighted sound that she cannot hold back. He came because he missed her, and they both know it.

"You want some coffee?"

"Sure." He follows her into the kitchen.

She starts preparing coffee, because coffee keeps them balanced, coffee is safe. And she owes him at least another 95 cups. He sidles up next to her, leans against the kitchen counter, watching her move about.

She reaches up to a cabinet to get a coffee filter. Feels his eyes on her as her body stretches, and her neck tingles in awareness.

"So how's your tour going," she interrupts the silence, trying to get her footing. She pours water into the coffee maker.

"Oh you know, hordes of women, thousands of chests to sign…" She glances at him from the corner of her eye, and he winks at her. "…the usual."

She rolls her eyes, scoots past him to grab the coffee grounds from the refrigerator.

He reaches for her, fingers circling her wrist, and pulls her to face him. "Everybody loves Nikki…" he whispers darkly.

Her body flares with heat. "That's… great." She loathes how inarticulate she sounds, swallows heavily. He has her. Does he know that he has her?

He tugs at her wrist, lightly, and she comes another step closer. Their knees almost bump.

She looks up at him. "When are you going back?"

He reaches out, slides a few tendrils of her hair behind her ears, then follows along the rim of her ear with his fingertips, grazing the soft skin of her neck. Her eyes flutter.

"Tomorrow morning," he says softly, slips his other hand around her waist, tugs her closer, fingers against the ridges of her spine. Her leg slides between his. "First flight out."

Her eyes widen. "You…"

He swallows the rest of her words with his mouth. His lips are warm against her, tender touches, tasting her, and her limbs weaken.

"Kate," he murmurs against her mouth, throaty and desperate, and the can of coffee grounds clanks to the floor when she drops it to grip his shoulders, her fingertips digging into his muscles. She sinks her lips to his again, slides her tongue against the length of his, hungry for him. He pulls her tightly against his body, chests and hips and legs one long line, and they kiss, dive together deeply; passionate, ravenous.

When the first desperate thirst is quenched they slow down to gentle, loving touches, lips against lips. She slides her hands down to lay them against his chest; feels the heat of his skin through his shirt, and the thunder of his heartbeat against her pulse point. She looks up at him when they pull apart.

"1,017 miles… That's a long way to come for a kiss."

He smiles at her, and his eyes are sparkling with ecstatic joy, brimming with love, and she is flooded with a warm, giddy happiness she can barely contain.

He slides his fingertips along her cheek, drops another kiss to her lips. Whispers against her mouth.

"Totally worth it!"

_End of Scene_


	4. 4 Make It Real

**#4 Make It Real**

The ringing of his phone roused him from his writing stupor. He checked the caller ID. Manny? He hadn't heard from that guy in quite some time. Curious, he picked up.

"Manny, what's up?"

"_Castle my man! You gotta come down here_!" He had to yell to be heard over the background noises, a multitudinous murmur of voices and discombobulated music notes.

"Where are you?"

"'_Paddy Reilly's', corner of 2__nd__ and East 29__th__._"

Castle didn't recognize the pub; he'd had a long couple of days on a case with Beckett, he was tired, and he was stuck in the middle of writing a really defiant scene.

"Not tonight Manny. I'm swamped," he turned him down.

"_Dude, your girl's here. You're gonna wanna see this!_" And then Manny just hung up.

Castle stared at his phone for a moment, stunned. Did the whole world know?

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><p>The sign at the door advertised it to be "Open Mic Night," but otherwise the Irish Pub looked exactly like one would expect. Brick and wood were offset by green and red walls, decorated with Celtic writing and large cloverleaf signs advertising Guinness. He weaved his way through the crowd, clustered by the bar and around the wooden benches and stools. It was very busy, even for a Wednesday night, and he wasn't able to pick out Manny within the mass of heads in the dimly lit space.<p>

He was getting closer to the stage at the back of the room; the music became more defined over the noises of the crowd, floating words and guitar notes.

He recognized her voice before he saw her.

'_Maybe it's a sign of weakness, when I don't know what to say…'_

The words were low, haunting in the way she freed them from her throat. His heart began thundering against his rib cage.

And then the crowd parted, like the magic of a curtain opening to reveal her, just for him.

Kate.

She was perched on a wooden stool, her legs, those unbelievable long legs, clad in jeans, balancing her, one lifted up against the cross beams of the stool to hold the guitar in place on top of her thigh. Her long hair was falling down in waves, hiding parts of her face, flowing against her tight leather jacket, cascading over her shoulders, down her arms.

Her voice picked up now, strong, almost defiant.

'_We belong to the light, we belong to the thunder, _

_We belong to the sound of the words we've both fallen under…'_

She belted out the chorus, had the crowd captivated, tied to her by the strength of her voice. Bathed in shadows drawn by the red spotlight focused on the stage, she sat regally, untouchable.

He ached for her, with a strength that he'd never felt before, deep, clawing at his insides.

'_Close your eyes and try to sleep now, close your eyes and try to dream…'_

Low again, she caressed the lyrics, and he felt the words as if she was singing only for him. He stared, captivated by her long graceful fingers as she expertly plucked the strings. He'd had no idea.

He doubted that there would ever be a moment in his life when she no longer surprised him.

_We can't begin to know it, how much we really care_

_I hear your voice inside me, I see your face everywhere…_

The words touched the desperate, needy places inside of him, and he wondered how she had picked her songs. He wanted her to have only him in mind when she did. He leaned against the brick wall for support, his legs wobbly.

She sang the chorus once more, persuasive lines of how _we belong together_, and when she finished on the last notes, the crowd soared, celebrated her in chants and whistles and applause.

She lifted her head, nodded her thanks, scanning the faces with her captivating eyes, and he knew, even with the red lighting distorting it, that she was blushing at the praise.

"Thank you," she spoke into the microphone, her voice roughened from use, dripping with sensuality that made him see images of naked limbs tangled in sheets, tousled hair spread over his pillow.

"This'll be my last song tonight," she announced her goodbye, and the crowd roared and whistled once more, clearly not ready to give her up.

He knew that feeling, intimately.

She let her gaze wander once more, settled back against her stool, when she froze. Stared at him, her eyes brimming in surprise at seeing him among the masses of people, simultaneously bashful and defiant, and the contrast would've made him smile except he was staring back, enthralled by her. She was so beautiful, and his breath rushed out of him, his hand against his sternum.

She blinked, breaking the spell. Biting her lip, she adjusted her guitar, seeming to think for a moment. Then she began, plucked her first notes, looked back up at him.

'_Saying I love you_

_Is not the words I want to hear from you…'_

People cheered hearing those first words; clearly she had picked a crowd favorite, but his heart clenched. Yet she held his eyes captive with hers, willing him to listen, and so he watched her sing, listened. The world around him fell away, narrowing down to only the two of them, alone, captives of the lyrics and her haunting voice.

'_More than words is all you have to do to make it real…'_

A soft punch against his bicep startled him, broke him out of the spell momentarily. He turned to find Manny next to him. Smiling knowingly, his friend handed him a shot of whiskey. Then clapped him between the shoulder blades, that manly slap that signifies encouragement, before disappearing once again into the crowd.

Castle sipped his drink, leaned his shoulder against the bricks again, the warmth of the alcohol only intensifying the heat in his blood, flushing his cheeks.

'_What would you do if my heart was torn in two…'_

His stomach stuttered, visions of hot sticky blood between his fingers, glassy unseeing eyes, a gulf of bright red spreading onto green too green grass, and he gulped, trying to swallow the dread. But she looked at him while she continued her words, holding him close to her only with her eyes, and his breathing eased.

And so he listened, enthralled by the rich melodious sounds released from her lips, freed from the depths of her soul.

'_Now that I've tried to talk to you and make you understand_

_All you have to do is close your eyes and just reach out your hand_

_And touch me, Hold me close don't ever let me go…'_

The blood roared in his ears, his heart exhilarated, beating a fast staccato rhythm against his ribs. The words spreading warmth through him like a balm, healing from the inside all the cracks and wounds that had grown with loving her so wholly and seemingly unrequited.

'_More than words…'_ She drew out the last line, slow and sensuous, while the room broke out in cheers around her final notes, applause thundering.

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><p>People gathered around her as she exited the stage, smiling, thanking her, complimenting. While she slowly, but decisively, made her way toward him.<p>

Her hands shoved into her pants pockets, she stood before him, bouncing slightly on the balls of her feet. Looking at him from under her lashes, adorably shy.

"Hey Castle."

"You…," he searched for words. Words were his métier, his passion, yet none were large enough, perfect enough to encompass the beauty of what he'd just seen, the extraordinary beauty that is she.

"You were phenomenal!"

"Yeah?" And then she smiled, lips spread wide, her features transformed into bright, stunning happiness. As if his approval was the only one that mattered.

Everything had rushed to the surface, his ache for her, his need, his love, and now he couldn't hold back any longer. Shouldn't, if the way she looked at him was any indication.

He reached for her hand, entwined his fingers with hers. Pulled her with him, and she followed. Threading through the sea of people, through the door, outside into the chilly night, around the corner of the pub.

He pushed her against the wall, her back coming to rest against the cool bricks, his body close to hers, shielding her from the wind.

"Cas…," her breath rushed out of her lungs, a swirling cloud of warm white fog in the night air.

But he pressed his fingers against her lips, halting her words. She looked at him, eyes luminous, glimmering expectantly in the darkness surrounding them. Then she reached out, dug her fingers into the soft fabric of his sweater, and pulled his body against hers.

She was warm, soft curves against his, the jut of bones just underneath. Twining one arm around her waist, he tugged her tighter against his chest, fingers splayed against her spine underneath her leather coat. Her breathing got heavy, chest lifting fast from the motion of her lungs, rubbing enticingly against him.

He held her close, rested his face against the crook of her neck. Breathing her in for a moment, her warmth and her scent, so familiar and finally so exhilaratingly new.

He threaded his fingers through her hair, the tips caressing her scalp and the back of her neck. Around to her ear and her lovely cheek, outlining the shape of her bone, her eyebrow, the tender skin under her eyes and the enticing shape of the corner of her mouth. She breathed out, and her warm pant fluttered against the pad of his thumb.

Their eyes locked as she smoothed her hands up over his stomach, then his chest, lacing her fingers around his neck. Tugging his face close to hers, eyes hooded, needy and wanton.

He tasted her breath against his mouth, hot and exciting, an instant before she put her lips against his. Warm and flavorful, soft touches, tasting, nipping. And then she made that sound again, almost a whimper galloping from the back of her throat, and he dove for her, his hand at the back of her head, voracious for her lips, her taste, her heat.

He kissed her like he had always wanted to, and she kissed him back, long and hard and just as greedy for him. Digging her fingers into his shoulders, holding on, she pulled up one of her legs, twined it around his back, pushing him tighter against her. She gasped into his mouth when his middle came in contact with hers, heat against heat, and they blinked, coming back to their senses with the realization that they were still standing outside, making out on a street corner.

She dropped her leg back onto solid ground, breathing heavily against his neck, and he blinked away the remnants of heat and swirling desire.

Then her hands traveled again, from around his neck, over his shoulders and to his front, gripping the v-neck of his sweater. She tugged and he looked at her.

Her eyes are shining at him, brimming with emotion. Her demand soft, but determined.

"Take me home, Castle."

_End of Scene_

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><p><strong>AN:<strong> Song credits:

"We Belong," by Pat Benatar

"More Than Words," by Extreme.


	5. 5 Fragmented

**#5 Fragmented**

He never thought that the end would be this anti-climactic. That the case that had held them hostage, had redefined her life, _their _lives, would unravel so swiftly, unstoppably.

He has never before been so thankful for the intrusiveness of modern-day media. This media, with its newspapers, TV news crews, pundits, radio hosts, paparazzi, and bloggers that, upon the first hints of impropriety, had probed and prodded and dug and speculated until the whole elaborate house of cards collapsed on top of one Senator Michael McDunfrey. This hint that he and Beckett strategically leaked to some of Castle's media contacts, when they had come across a new crucial piece of evidence that pointed them in the Senator's direction.

And he was scared, so scared for her life that he could barely think straight, and they argued and fought about it, but then they had reasoned and strategized, and now the Senator, this man who for decades had masterminded, building his empire of money and power behind the scenes, this man who had Beckett's mother killed because he considered her mere collateral damage, this man was in handcuffs. Powerless, he could do nothing but let the police lead him away.

No gunfights, no blood, no pistols at dawn.

And Kate is still alive.

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><p>It is finished and she is alive and it is so overwhelming that he doesn't know what to feel because he feels so much. So instead he watches her, finds his rhythm in her movement. She clicks on handcuffs and recites rights, and then she hands the Senator over to Esposito who leads him toward the squad car. She does so professionally, unemotionally, her face stoic.<p>

Then she sinks to the floor, her back against a wall, head between her knees.

He walks toward her, can't_ not_ be close. She doesn't move; all he hears is her breathing deeply, as if she has to concentrate to remember the motions, in and out.

But she must know he is close, because she whispers to him, just one word, "Castle," and there is a quiet need laced through her voice that he has never heard from her before.

He squats next to her, scoops one arm underneath her knees, the other around her back until he has her secure with his hand under her armpit and alongside her ribcage. He lifts her up, against his chest. She stays like that, limp in his arms, her forehead hidden against the crook of his neck.

He carries her out, away from the scene, and she doesn't move, and her colleagues look, acknowledge, then purposely look away. He knows this will never be spoken of again.

* * *

><p>He takes her to his home and she doesn't protest.<p>

In the elevator she leans her cheek against his shoulder, and when the door opens to his floor, he wraps his fingers around her wrist as they walk. Her skin is soft against the pad of his thumb.

His daughter barrels against him when he opens the door, wraps her arms around his neck.

"Is it over Dad? Are you alright?"

"Yeah, it's over," he reassures her, softly padding her back. She looks up at him, her large, knowing eyes judging the truth of his words. "We're okay."

Satisfied, she lets go of him, then wraps her arms around Beckett next. "I'm so glad," she whispers against the older woman's cheek, and Kate hugs her back, stroking her long fingers through Alexis' hair for a moment.

Alexis steps back, and any leftover energy seems to just drain from Beckett as she sinks in on herself. He sends his daughter to get her some comfortable clothes, then reaches for Kate's hand. He laces his fingers through hers and she looks at him for a moment, her eyes unguarded.

Tugging her forward, he maneuvers her into his bedroom. He turns down the covers, and she sits on the edge, pulls off her heels, then drops sideways onto the mattress, her head against his pillow, pulling her knees tightly up against her chest. He covers her, duvet up to her shoulders, and strokes her long hair off her forehead. Her eyes are already closed.

Alexis hands him a stack of clothes and he deposits them at the foot of the bed, just in case, before they walk out.

"Will she be okay Dad?" Alexis asks in her concerned voice that makes her sound more grown up than her seventeen years.

His heart jitters. "Yeah, Sweetie," he reassures his daughter, hoping he is telling the truth. "In time."

She goes to do her homework and he sits down to write. Because at least he can heal Nikki.

* * *

><p>He is in the kitchen when she comes out of his bedroom, barefoot, wearing leggings and one of Alexis's hooded sweatshirts. Her hair is wet from the shower. She smells like his soap.<p>

"Hey," she greets him, voice raspy from hours of disuse.

"How are you feeling?" He continues cubing tomatoes for the homemade tomato soup he's preparing for her, comfort food. Watches her out of the corner of his eyes.

She shrugs her shoulders, _I don't know_. "Drained."

He nods to the counter. "There's some tea for you." She pads toward the mug, pulls it close to her. But she doesn't drink. She plays with the string of the teabag, rolls the little paper attached to it into a tight cylinder, then unfurls it again. Leaning against the counter, she digs a fingernail into the seam between the tiles, follows it around the corners of the tiles with the pad of her finger. She's quiet, introspective.

_This _Kate, he isn't sure what she needs, but he doesn't prod. It is enough that she is here, in his company, his space.

With the back of the large knife, he slides the tomatoes off the cutting board and into the large pot where garlic and herbs have been simmering in olive oil. He adds some more spices, adjusts the heat to medium, covers the pot.

He turns around to the sink, runs water over his hands to wash off the tomato juice, when her arms suddenly wrap around him from behind. She holds on tightly, presses her face against his spine, breathing deeply. Moving carefully, he turns off the water, towel dries his hands.

He turns in her embrace but she doesn't let go.

She holds her hands against the panes of muscle along his back, her nose against his breastbone. Then she looks up at him, her eyes luminous.

"Will you love me tonight?" She asks it quietly, with hope in her voice, and lots of need, and emotions she cannot yet address.

His heart thumps against his ribcage. He's scared, scared of the wrong step, the wrong words, because this matters, _she_ matters. He trails his hands over her sides, slides under her sweatshirt, finding the soft, warm, naked skin of her waist. Because he doesn't ever want her to feel _not _wanted. Her eyelids flutter, and he presses his thumbs against her ribs. She opens her eyes again, looks up at him.

"I already love you."

Her breath hitches, she blinks. Her fingers dig into his back and she drops her forehead against his clavicle, sighing, her warm breath seeping through the soft material of his tee shirt.

"I'm not even sure who I am right now, Castle," she acknowledges softly, almost resigned.

He touches his fingers to her chin, tilts up her face toward his. This thing that has defined her path, has driven her, is done, and he is aware that she will need to come to terms with that. But he knows her, besides and underneath that.

"Don't worry Kate._ I_ know who you are."

She stares, eyes large, but then she smiles at him, warm and intimate.

"We did it, didn't we? We put this thing to rest," she acknowledges, and he remembers a conversation on a set of swings, seemingly so long ago. Warmth flares inside of him, flushes his skin. He beams back at her.

"Yes we did."

And then he tilts her chin up farther, tugs her closer to his mouth, until he feels the flutters of her breath against his lips. Her eyes slide closed; she sidles closer, rests a leg between his, her fingers digging into his back expectantly. He kisses her then, glides his lips against her warm soft mouth, and she unfurls for him, opens, receives. He is tender with her, his kiss full of love and hope and expectation, and she tastes him, nips, gives and takes, their kiss a symphony of movement and harmony.

She falls against him when they slide apart, rests her face against his neck.

"Can I stay for a while?" She murmurs the words against his heated skin.

He wraps her in a tight embrace, kisses her hair.

"As long as you want."

_End of Scene _


	6. 6 Underneath It All

**AN: **This is the 12 percent mark! Woohoo! (Just felt like pointing out a random percentage.) Thank you all for the wonderful and encouraging enthusiasm you have shown so far; you make this so worthwhile!

This one took a ridiculous amount of time to write. But now that it's done, I would say I'm a little bit fond of it. That's at least something right? :)

* * *

><p><strong>#6 – Underneath It All<strong>

It hits her at the most ordinary times.

He slides into the booth next to her, his thigh grazing hers, and warm frissons travel along her skin. Sunlight is streaming through the windows of the diner, bright blinding sparkles dancing off the lacquered tabletop, jumping into his thick hair, skimming over his face. He hands her a menu, smiles at her. One of those soft ones that's just for her, with warmth in his eyes, and that shimmer of joy at simply being by her side.

And it wells up inside of her, a heated swell of effervescent pleasure, climbing through her bloodstream, barely containable, tugging at the surface of her skin to be let out, set free.

_I love you._

She savors the feeling, holds it safe in her heart, a treasure. But she doesn't speak the words. Instead she smiles, reaches for the menu, allows their fingers to brush for an infinite moment, allows the zings of electricity that sparkle whenever her skin touches his.

"What are you in the mood for?" He asks when she is browsing the menu, his voice a low rumble tumbling along the rims of her ears. She thinks of lazy kisses in the park, tickled by the warm rays of the sun, of tender fingertips exploring her skin.

"Club sandwich," she says instead.

* * *

><p>He scoots next to where she is leaning back against the edge of her desk, hands her a cup of coffee. The porcelain is warm against her palms as she cradles it within her hands, lifts it to her mouth. Milk foam tickles her upper lip and the hot liquid glides down her throat, that perfect blend of dark espresso, creamy milk, a hint of sweetness. He gets her coffee just right, every time. She smiles against the rim of the cup.<p>

"So Martin Levers alibied out." She points toward the murder board in front of them.

They stare at the board.

"What if…" he starts, his voice and posture settling into storytelling mode. He gathers the edges of his theory, spins a tale around the characters involved, and she listens, his voice pulling her along with his thoughts. She follows the connections, thinks with him, their collaboration a well-rehearsed dance of words and ideas and intelligence and fun.

"The daughter!" They exclaim, arriving at the conclusion concurrently. She smiles, lifts her eyebrow at him in approval. His answering grin is pleased, crinkling the corners of his eyes as he looks at her. The warmth of his smile soaks into her blood, tingles through her veins, leaves her nerve endings feeling fuzzy.

_I love you._

"You got something…" he points at his own upper lip. She catches herself, focuses.

"Milk beard," he winks at her.

"Oh." She runs her tongue along the rim of her lip, licks off the foam stuck to her skin.

His eyes flash. Turn to a dark bottomless blue. Her breath catches in her chest, the thump of her heartbeat loud in her ears. She stares at him, captured by his look, feels that draw, the ancient pull between them, heat and want and sizzling energy, tingling in her fingertips, weakening her knees.

A chair topples somewhere behind them and he blinks at the noise; she catches herself.

"I should…" she points at her desk. Tries to breathe.

He clears his throat. "Yeah."

* * *

><p>She savors the bourbon against her tongue, with its charred flavor, the hints of caramel and vanilla, the rough rasp as it slides down her throat. She's been exploring different ones lately and he offers her a new find every time she is here.<p>

Her forearm perched on the dark wooden surface, she leans her weight against the counter of the bar, folds one leg over the other. Her seat at the back offers the panorama of the length of the room, and an unobstructed view of him.

The impromptu plan of meeting for a drink has turned into a working night for him. His bartender faced with a family emergency, he has taken over serving at the bar.

Every once in a while he comes by, offers her a refill, a smile, a few bites of conversation. Mostly he is busy though, tending to his patrons, refilling their drinks while he shares words and laughs. He's good at this, his natural charm a perfect accompaniment to the dark inviting atmosphere so deeply engrained in the old wood and rough stone of this place.

But she stays anyway, alone with her thoughts, observes him while he works. He scoots tumblers along the wooden table top, the laugh lines at his eyes crinkling as he talks with the two men across the counter who receive them.

He glances over, catches her eyes. Sends her a smile from across the room, wide, lingering with deep contentment and latent pleasure, and it climbs through her again, wells up hot and bubbly inside of her, rising, flushing her cheeks.

_I love you._

The bar is getting busy, groups of customers filing inside, uncommonly many for a mid-week evening. He is well-coordinated, his movements fast, but he starts looking frazzled, trying to keep up with the needs of the new arrivals and the string of orders from the waitress, simply too much for one.

She slides off her bar stool, makes her way behind the counter. He is drawing beer from the tap when she arrives by his side, and lays her palm on his shoulder.

"You take the left side, I'll handle the right," she speaks close to his ear.

He turns toward her. Their faces are close and he lifts his eyebrows at her, surprised and adoring both. She smirks, leans infinitesimally closer.

"I have many hidden talents, Richard Castle."

Then she turns with an added swing of her hair, leans over the counter, greets people, takes orders.

* * *

><p>They work in tandem through the evening. She laughs a lot, gets a few orders wrong but mostly handles herself well, the rhythm coming back to her from her years of bartending during college. She finds she is really enjoying herself, doing something different. Having him by her side.<p>

They move around, slide past each other within the narrow space behind the counter, her body brushing his, and every time her senses heighten a notch. He lets her pass, his face close to hers, his hand at her waist guiding her along. She tingles where his fingers touch.

She wipes the counter when the last customer has left, and then he helps her into her coat. She pulls her hair out from under the collar while he falls in step beside her, rests his hand against her lower back as they walk. Shivers crawl up her spine, dance along the back of her neck.

"Thanks for tonight, Beckett," he says, appreciation in his voice.

Her entire body is humming with awareness. Of his scent, his skin, his strong body close to hers. She wants to hook her arm in the crook of his elbow, aches to rest her cheek against his shoulder.

He holds the front door open for her and she brushes past him. "My pleasure," she smiles, a teasing lilt in her voice, and she feels the breath catch in his chest at the contact.

They stand by the curb and he faces her. "Let me call you a cab."

And suddenly the sky opens; thick heavy beads are pouring from above like buckets being dumped out on top of them. Water drenches her hair, runs down her collar immediately, and she squeals in surprise, pulls her shoulders up toward her ears to ward off the chilly wetness.

He grabs her hand, pulls her with her and they run, race toward the closest awning in front of a restaurant. She almost stumbles, bumps against his chest as he tugs her underneath the protective canopy. His arm wraps around her, holding her upright until she's found her balance.

They are soaked top to bottom, even their clothes emitting squashing sounds as they slap against each other, and it's cold, rivulets of water running down her back and into her underwear, and it bubbles through her, glee, such immense joy, that she just laughs, loud and bright, open-mouthed, happy. He joins in, holding onto her waist still, his deep laugh rumbling through his chest, and she feels his body moving with it, sliding against hers.

She smiles brightly at him when the hilarity subsides, leaving behind the simmer of happiness, of bone-deep content inside of her. Her clothes are drenched and cold but all she feels is warmth tumbling through her blood, heat emanating from where his hands rest on the sides of her waist. He is soaking wet, his hair plastered to his head; water drips from its strands, rolls down his face, drops are hanging off his eyelashes and the tip of his nose. Yet he smiles at her, tender, joyful, his eyes shimmering darkly in the dim street lighting.

Her gaze strays to his mouth, the inviting slant of his lips, the thickness of the rosy flesh that she is aching to put her teeth against. His eyes turn darker, his smile slipping to reveal a dark, desperate want painted across his face. For her.

It surges through her, hot and crazy and uncontainable.

_I love you. I love you. I love you._

And she leaps forward, cradles his face within her palms. Her mouth not quite touching his, she slips out her tongue to lick the droplets of water off his upper lip, gathers them inside her mouth. He gasps at the tender strokes, the gush of breath bursting heatedly against her skin while he pulls her tightly against his body, frames his hand around the bow of her neck.

She covers his mouth with hers then, finally, _finally_, his lips cold against hers and she tugs them inside her warm mouth, nips, sucks, sooths her tongue along the soft skin. He groans, a deep needy rumble that she can feel pulsating in her chest, and she thrusts inside the cavern of his mouth, unites with him in long deep strokes, soaking him up, his flavor, his caresses, the shivers racing through her veins, the heat, the passion. She kisses him, long and fiery, his fingers tangled in the wet strands of her hair, his thigh wedged between her legs.

At last they calm; she softly kisses his lips once more, wipes the raindrops off his cheeks with her thumbs. Eyes hooded and dark, he gazes at her, the adoration on his face seeping right into her heart. The words are tugging at the surface of her, strong and wild and amazing and… right. She smiles at him, and sets them free.

"I love you."

_End of Scene_


	7. 7 Lay Your Love On Me

**AN:** This follows closely on the heels of episode 4x09, "Kill Shot." Be aware that I consider this one a strong T. Please enjoy!

* * *

><p><strong>#7 Lay Your Love On Me<strong>

_I feel a kind of fear_

_When I don't have you near._

_Unsatisfied, I skip my pride,_

_I beg you dear..._

_Don't go wasting your emotion;_

_Lay all your love on me…_

_(ABBA, 'Lay All Your Love On Me.')_

* * *

><p>She was on him the moment he opened his door.<p>

Her arms around his neck, the angles of her hipbones jutting against his as she pushed him forward, toward the nearest wall.

His shoulder blades collided with the unyielding plaster; he reached out for balance, grabbed onto her waist to steady himself and she tumbled against him, warm skin over subtle curves draped all over his chest, one of her legs sliding between his knees.

She looked at him, eyes dark and stormy, fathomlessly deep, her fingers trailing soft caresses along the skin of his neck, for just one moment, drawing him to her.

And then she kissed him. Angled her head and slanted her lips over his mouth. Her lips soft, but urgent, she nudged the seam of his mouth, found her way inside.

He felt the effects immediately, all the way down to his toes. He forgot, ignored his confusion and answered her kiss, his tongue meeting hers in longing, urgent caresses, drawing from her what she gave, a depth of feelings, of need, that until now he had only hoped she felt for him.

She tasted like mystery and his limbs tingled, his skin on fire, his need for her a yearning, gaping ache inside his chest. He held her tightly to him, her middle against his thigh and she rocked forward, groaned into his mouth, a raw visceral sound that raced through his veins like fire along a trail of gasoline.

"Rick…" she moaned, softly slid her lips against his, nipped the pliable flesh with the edges of her teeth. Her fingernails dug into the flesh of his shoulders. Tumbling breath and hooded eyes, she looked at him from underneath her lashes.

"I want you."

* * *

><p>It rushed through him, a jumbled mess of emotions; love and devotion, wanting her with a strength he'd never felt for anybody before. Confusion, fear, and anger too, for finding her at his doorstep in the middle of the night, needing him finally, so desperately, when he knew, <em>knew<em>, that she should not be anywhere near here, making life-altering decisions within the messy emotional state that the sniper had spun her back into.

He whirled them around, pressed her against the wall, his body crowding her.

"Kate." He ground out her name through his teeth, _Kate what are you doing to us_?

* * *

><p>She heard the anxiety in his voice, and she felt set on fire, and so many thoughts were warring in her head, fighting to be heard, but she found that she could focus if she focused on him; the tangled mess became clearer, showed her a path, could guide her along. Yes, desperation had brought her here, fear and anxiety, but also a yearning so intense that she could barely breathe, and so she had called a cab, and traveled up the elevator, and knocked on his door, and pounced on him.<p>

She trailed her fingers along his neck, up to his face, cradled his cheeks in the palms of her hands. His skin was flushed and the heat traveled through her, intensifying the frenzied pool of longing within her. His eyes were hooded, dark blue depths, wanting her, worried, flashes of anger; she understood it all. She was aware, she _knew_ that it was messy, that she wasn't healed yet but she needed him to see, to understand that it didn't mean she didn't know what she wanted. She wanted to fight, she wanted to be more. She wanted…him.

She tilted his head, held his eyes.

"Please," she whispered.

* * *

><p>He wanted to be angry with her, he really did, for putting him on the spot like that, for risking everything they had worked for so hard to a turbulent moment of emotional vulnerability, but then she begged him, <em>begged<em>, and there was nothing he could do but give her what she wanted, needed, what she asked of him.

Because he realized that she asked _for him_. No matter her emotional state, she had come to him, needing him, wanting him. And he was not going to deny her. He would throw caution to the wind because he loved her too much to deny her anything.

He hiked her leg higher so it was draped over the side of his hip, cradling her against his thigh, and she gasped, her eyelashes trembling, a dark curtain against the fair skin of her cheek.

"On one condition," he ground out. Her eyes fluttered open, her irises glinting with the dark green of arousal, and she stared at him, with her lips parted and glistening invitingly.

He stroked a hand over her cheek, fingers rippling along the rim of her ear, and then he slid them to the back of her neck, tilted her head so she would look at him, would focus. He needed her to focus because this was important, _vital_.

"You don't get to regret this, Kate." It was a demand, sounding harsher than he intended but he was not going to budge on that. There would be no going back after tonight.

She stared at him, lips trembling and her fingers digging into his shoulders, and for a terrifying second cold fear tumbled along his limbs like ice cubes. This ephemeral moment, right here in the dimly lit entryway of his loft, it could make them or break them.

But she pulled herself closer by his shoulders, brought her mouth to his. She shook her head and their lips rubbed together enticingly. Warm gusts of air tumbled into his mouth as she spoke.

"No regrets."

* * *

><p>She was the most beautiful sight he had ever seen. Her milky skin contrasted starkly against his chocolate brown satiny sheets as she laid spread out on his bed, her hair a mess of curly tangles, eyes closed, fingers clenched around fistfuls of fabric, her heels digging into the mattress.<p>

He explored her glorious body. Mapped her skin with fingertips and kisses, so incredibly soft against his touches, so responsive when he discovered the most sensitive spots, grazed them with the pads of his fingers, his tongue, his teeth until she writhed underneath him, hiccupped longing, needy sounds out of her mouth.

And when his lips grazed her inner thigh, and those long, incredible, _respectable _legs were draped around him, cradling him to her, he discovered, "you taste like cherries too," murmuring the words against her skin, and her hips flew up, his name dripping from her lips.

"Cas…"

* * *

><p>She was sobbing, <em>sobbing<em> under his devotion to her, her body clenched, awareness heightened to every contact with her skin, overwhelmed by sensations and maybe she should be embarrassed that she was crying but she wasn't, she couldn't, because this, _this_, is what she had wanted, needed so desperately, this intensity, this release, this, _him_. Always him. Always him…

* * *

><p>He awoke to darkness, her scent lingering on the sheets but the bed empty beside him.<p>

He rose to a sitting position, heart hammering, tried blinking his eyes to clarity. No regrets, she had _promised_ him…

He became aware of breathing that was not his, and turned his head to find her standing by his window, her silhouette illuminated by the dim lighting coming in from the city streets, and his heart skipped and fluttered.

She was wearing his shirt, the one she had taking off his body only a few hours previously, and there was a vulnerability to her that made him shiver, ache with the strength of love he felt for her, so deep, so encompassing. She was staring outside, her eyes wide; he knew she was thinking because the tip of her thumb was in her mouth.

"Kate?"

* * *

><p>She turned to find him awake, sitting within a mess of tangled sheets, looking up at her, so full of need, and love, and worry.<p>

"I'm not regretting it, Rick," she reassured him.

And she didn't. A moment of panic had driven her out of his warm embrace, her heart hammering almost painfully against her ribs. She had felt it, the urge to bolt, just for an instant. But she had reached for his shirt, and draped within the fabric, surrounded by his comforting scent her mind had cleared and she realized that she didn't want to leave him. She had stood by the window and allowed the familiar rhythm of city noises calm her nerves, ground her.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah." She wavered what to say, but she was standing mostly naked in his bedroom after he had done things to her that still made her insides flutter, and there was no reason not to say what was on her mind. Not if she wanted to keep him.

"I'm just… scared."

"Of what?"

"That I will mess this up." What they had was good, _so good_, and now it was so much more, so amazing, so overwhelming, and she couldn't mess this up, couldn't lose it. Lose him.

"Come here," he urged her, holding out his hand to her in invitation. She knew that he wanted nothing more than to get up, pull her into his arms, comfort her; she could see it in his eyes. But he knew it was important that she took this step.

And so she did. It only took two strides with her long legs and she was by his side, laced her fingers with his.

He tugged her closer, nudged his face against the warm skin of her stomach, and her body tingled deliciously; a gasp tumbled off her lips. He cradled her to him, looked up with his chin still resting against her abdomen, eyes serious.

"Do something for me," he asked.

She trailed her fingers through the soft strands of his hair. "What?"

"Don't think too much. Let's just take this one step at a time. Can you do that?"

She wondered if he realized that they had already jumped about fifteen steps ahead, but she did understand his plea, what he was trying to say. Because it wasn't a plea, it was a promise. A promise made to her that he would take his time with her, that he would be there for every step, that he would not give up on her. He never had. Her body welled with warmth, her head rushed with the intensity, the strength of love she felt for him. And soon, she would be able to tell him. Very soon.

She nodded, smiled down at his face. "So what's our next step?"

"It involves you coming back to bed, and letting me hold you while you fall asleep."

She grinned, nudged his shoulders, and he tumbled backwards, bringing her with him as they fell back onto the mattress. He scooted back against the pillow while she draped herself over his chest, legs entwined with his, her head resting where she could hear his heartbeat, strong and regular and calming. He wrapped his arms around her and she was surrounded by him; all man and love and safe. She took a deep breath.

"I can do that."

_End of Scene _


	8. 8 Torn to Pieces

**AN: **It is Friday. I think we deserve a treat, yes? :) Happy 3rd Castleversary to all of us!

* * *

><p><strong>#8: Torn To Pieces<strong>

Her beauty is what dreams are made of. What tragedies are written about. What poets spend their lives trying to capture in flawless heartfelt compositions, never to be satisfied in the face of such perfection. Her smile is an effervescent well, bathing him with delight, joy, rapture, each moment that he is granted near her, every time it bubbles over its rim.

He will never tire of watching her.

He stares at her long graceful fingers as she pinches off another portion of the brownie. Follows the piece with his eyes as she brings it toward her mouth while she scans the headlines of the paper on the table in front of her. Head bent slightly forward, her shimmering sun-kissed curls cascade down her back, tumble along the outline of her face, her dark eyelashes casting shadows onto the high rim of her cheekbones.

She is so unassumingly beautiful and he can't stop the heavy thump of his heartbeat against his ribs, the rush of heat to his head; can barely breathe.

Her lips close around the piece of brownie and the fingertips that hold it, and his heart lurches, his mouth dry as she sucks the remaining traces of chocolate off her fingertips, the glistening rosy flesh curved enticingly around the digits until she frees them with a soft plop.

His lungs quiver, gasp for oxygen, and he grabs for his coffee, clumsy hands bumping against the handle of the cup, rattling it against its saucer.

Her lashes flutter upwards, her eyes focusing on him, a shimmering mélange of hazel and moss, a forest bathed in morning sunlight. She smiles, a teasing lilt dancing joyfully along the corners of her mouth.

She knows that he was watching her; knows what she is doing to him.

Her tongue peeks out; she curves it over her lower lip, licks away a few brownie crumbles, and the flames are licking along his veins, hot and consuming. The enticing spark in her eyes is unmistakable and so he shifts forward in his seat perpendicular to hers, his knees bearing against her thigh under the small table of the quaint coffee shop, pressure points against her skin, her heat seeping through the thin cotton of her slacks and right into his bloodstream.

"Good?" He questions, his voice low and raw, tilting his head toward the brownie, his eyes never leaving hers.

She nods, pinches off another chunk of brownie with her fingers, holds it out to him.

"You should try it." There's challenge in her voice, the sparkle of temptation in her eyes, dark and luring.

They are playing with fire, and they both know it.

But she asked to meet him for coffee this morning - on her day off. It appears that it is time to rake the flames.

He grasps his fingers around her wrist, pulls her hand close to his face. Her eyes widen, surprised, expectant. Keeping his gaze steadily on her, he wraps his mouth around the chunk of chocolaty batter, envelops her fingers with his lips. With his tongue he slides the bite off her fingertips and her eyes flutter, a slight blush dusting her cheeks.

The chocolate is rich and dark, dancing along his taste buds; the flavor of her skin sets off sparks behind his eyes, in his veins. He sucks on her fingers, cleaning away the last traces of chocolate, and her chest rises and falls with her rapid breathing; she sways forward a little.

When he releases her hand it falls listlessly to the table; her mouth is slack. She is staring at his lips, shifts in her seat.

He wraps one leg around hers, trapping her to him and she swallows visibly; shivers when he traces his hand along her waist until his fingers are dipped into the grooves of her spine.

She tilts toward him, pointing at his lip.

"You've got…" Her voice almost soundless. Eyes hazy, unfocused; her mouth so close that her warm breath tickles his upper lip.

"…chocolate," she whispers and then her lips sip at the left corner of his mouth. She slides her tongue along the outline, cleaning away the sweet remnant supposedly stuck to his skin. His mind goes blank, his fingers digging into her spine. A gust of breath flutters from her mouth at his touch, hot and moist.

"…there…" Sucking the other side of his lip between hers, nipping, laving her tongue along the flesh. He groans, his insides a hot fizzing well of need; he wants to grab her, haul her onto his lap but the edge of the table keeps them frustratingly apart. He rakes his other hand through her hair, his palm cradling her head. Keeping her close, tilting her forward. Keeping her.

She draws the shape of his mouth with her tongue, traveling along his lips until she is centered with him, exchanging aching breaths through open, yearning mouths.

"…and there." She delves into his mouth then, her tongue seeking his in bold strokes, deep and needy and longing, and he meets her with the same desperation, explores the recesses of her mouth; she tastes like chocolate and coffee and woman, full-blooded and strong and exquisite, and he aches for her, wants her only more, always more. He sucks on her lips, nibbles the pliable skin, and she gasps, digs her nails into the skin of his neck.

Someone clears his throat nearby and they jump apart like teenagers being caught making out under the bleachers; their heads jerk toward the sound. A young waiter is standing by their corner booth, trying to be discreet, blushing a furious red.

He had completely forgotten that they were in public.

"Will that be all for you today?" The young man squeaks out the words.

She catches herself first, directs her glorious smile at him, wide, with teeth, her eyes sparkling playfully. He didn't think the waiter could turn any deeper shade of red, but he does. He can't blame the boy.

"We'll take another brownie, please," she orders. Still smiling at the waiter, she reaches back under the table, squeezes the top of his thigh.

"To go."

_End of Scene_

* * *

><p><strong>AN: <strong>I have a twitter account **(at)nic6879** as well as a tumblr now **nic6879(dot)tumblr(dot)com **so come by and visit if you'd like! You may also be informed sooner about updates if this website has issues again. :)


	9. 9 Steamed Up

Happy (hopefully not overly angsty) Castle Monday!

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><p><em><strong>#9 Steamed Up <strong>_

Castle finds her in the break room, in front of the espresso machine. He leans against the doorframe for just a moment, watches her. It is often during these trivial moments that it strikes him most. How indescribably beautiful she is. Long legs and lithe arms, her hair cascading over her shoulders like liquid gold. How his heart somersaults when she is near. How extraordinary she truly is, and so unassuming; not even aware how she knocks everybody she meets for a loop. How much he loves her.

She clears out the old coffee grounds, then refills the metal filter basket with fresh coffee and tamps the grounds until they are compressed tightly. With swift and efficient movements, she reattaches the basket to the brew group, flips the switch and the familiar thumping sounds of bar pressure building within the machine fill the silence.

He almost always makes her coffee when he is at the precinct, and yet she has come to master the espresso machine. He isn't surprised but he wonders when, wonders if she had to during one of their summers apart, and the thought stabs, like it always does.

He is surprised she hasn't noticed him yet. Then again, maybe she is just not acknowledging him on purpose. She is used to his staring- oh that makes him sound creepy.

Kate waits for the espresso shot to extract, reaches for the milk and then a cappuccino mug.

She pauses, watches her coffee while she starts rotating her neck. She groans, encountering stiff muscles, and curves her hands over each of her shoulders. He observes for a moment as she drops her head, digs her fingertips into the flesh of her neck and the top of her shoulders, winces audibly.

That's all it takes, her visible, audible pain, for him to move, to walk up behind her. It aches him to see her hurt; he can't _not_ try to help her in some way. He doesn't even think about the boundary he is crossing until he frames her narrow shoulders with his broad palms.

"Let me," he murmurs behind her and she stiffens under his touch. He freezes.

They usually don't touch. Not like this. They avoid too much contact; its implications are too dangerous, too tempting, and they both know it. And so they circle around each other, drawn to each other like moths to the flame until the brightness blinds them and they fear that they'll get burned.

But- Here they are. And he realizes that he fears the fire dying down more now than he fears getting burned.

"Relax," he whispers next to her ear, and feels her shiver against his hands. The heat of her skin seeps through her clothes, into his palms, tingles up his arms, the answering flutter strong inside his chest. He catches himself, draws a deep breath, focuses.

Castle begins by slowly stroking his hands along her shoulders, up her neck and down to her shoulder blades, then back. Repeats the motion a few times with only slight pressure to warm her muscles underneath. Finally she relaxes, allows her shoulders to slump under his hands, her muscles to slacken.

Moving back up, he starts kneading the flesh of her shoulders. Adding strength now, he digs his fingers and thumbs into her skin, seeking out pressure points and stiff areas. Her muscles are very tight, all her stress bound up into hard painful knots. He isn't surprised that she is as stiffened, given her intense and demanding job, but he worries about how much pain she might feel from it every day. He wants to fix that.

He would do this for her every day if only she let him.

He works on the knots, presses and circles them, trying to get them to loosen and more blood flow restored. She drops her head forward, giving him better access. Her fingers are clamped against the counter, knuckles turning white whenever he hits a particularly sore spot. And yet she arches her back toward his movements, seeking out the pressure he adds to her bound up muscles.

He focuses on her reactions, letting her body tell him where she needs a specific stroke, but he quickly realizes how dangerous that approach is. Because now he can also_ hear_ her more vividly, the sounds she makes as he touches her. That peculiar combination of winces and groans, hissing mixed with moans. Dark sounds racing up her throat that should not be arousing but they are. Because he is touching her, _touching_ her, and she is moaning and writhing under his fingertips.

His body heat climbs several degrees and he concentrates on the various ways he can use his fingers and palms to give her relief- No not that, just from her pain, relief from her pain. He breathes, focuses, tries to recall all the common points of women's back pains that he has once researched.

He climbs his fingers up her spine, digs them into the soft tissue underneath her skull and she groans again, slumps forward so that her back is now a concave bow against his chest. He has to slightly fold his body over hers to still be able to reach her neck.

Her scent lifts off her skin and enfolds him, draws him to her, subtle but ever so tantalizing.

He pushes, probes, presses against the tense hard muscle strands of her neck, and she moans.

"Oh god Castle," she murmurs on a sigh; his name is hoarse on her tongue and he's convinced that she is barely aware that she is even speaking intelligible words.

"Don't ever stop doing that."

It shocks him to immobility, for just a second, until he reminds himself that she is hardly coherent. And yet, and yet-

He wants to give her everything she could ever ask for. Wants it so badly that he aches for it, a strong insistent tug inside of him that pulls him ever closer to the woman currently cradled underneath him.

He renews his ministrations against her skin and scalp, running his fingertips along her tender, warm, enticing skin, while he leans forward, his face, his mouth close to the shell of her ear.

"I won't ever stop," he murmurs.

She stills in his arms, stops breathing, her whole body tenses under him.

"Breathe," he nudges her with almost a smile, reminding her as much as himself.

And she does; sucks a deep breath into her lungs as if her entire system needed a restart. Then she turns around. He almost loses his balance, perched as he was over her back, and quickly wraps an arm around her waist, holding on.

She straightens in his grasp, looks at him, her eyes wide and luminous, an almost translucent amber that shimmers with the depths of emotion.

"Never?" She whispers, hesitant and hopeful both. Her fingers rest lightly against his chest, right on top of his racing heartbeat.

_Oh Kate_. He feels as if his heart will burst out of his chest at any moment now. He hangs on to her with weakened limbs and heated, racing blood. Pulls her tighter against him, laces his other hand through her hair. And he smiles at her, smiles because she is so incredibly precious, and she is in his arms, warm and pliable, looking hopeful and desirous and expectant.

"Never," he assures her, cradles her cheek in his palm, the fingers of his other hand against her spine, pressing her to him. He will never stop loving her.

"Never."

She smiles, that soft, utterly breathtaking smile of hers and he frames her chin, tugs her closer to his mouth.

"Castle," she whispers, her eyes fluttering close on the word, and his knees go weak. He tilts forward the rest of the way, and covers her lips with his.

Her mouth is warm and pliable, inviting him in, and she tastes like sunshine and sugar when he dips inside. Their tongues meet, and suddenly it's fast, hot and needy, and he explores her mouth, delves deeper and she meets him, just as urgently, as passionately. She moans and the sound ripples through him, boils his blood while she clings to him, her fingers clenched into the fabric of his shirt, her other arm laced around his neck, keeping him close.

A loud knock against the glass startles them; they jump apart, turn toward the door in unison, breathing heavily. The grinning teasing faces of Ryan, Esposito, and two other detectives greet them, holding up their empty coffee cups.

Castle turns back to her, an apology on his lips for pouncing on her at the precinct, but instead she rests her forehead against his chest, and she laughs, a sound so happy and free that makes his heart leap all over again. He tilts up her face by her chin, aching to see her smile like that.

Then he drops another kiss to her lips, sweet and languid, for all the world to see.

"Let me make you some coffee," he smiles at her, ghosting his fingers along her cheek.

"Yours got cold."

_End of Scene_


	10. 10 Smile

_**#10 Smile **_

.

Beckett throws the highlighters and pencils back in the desk drawer, slams it shut, then drops her head into her palms, pressing her fingertips against her forehead for a moment, trying to rub away the onset of a headache. She is ready for this day to be over, this week to end and it is only Thursday morning.

Maybe she should take a day off tomorrow; hop on her bike, feel the wind in her hair as she winds along quiet country roads toward the beach.

"Morning, Beckett," he greets, startling her out of her thoughts and she looks up, finds Castle smiling warmly at her, a take out cup from her favorite coffee shop extended toward her.

Warmth laces through her at the sight, a low pleasant simmer and despite her awful week, her smile for him comes naturally.

"Thank you." She takes the cup, savors the first sip with quiet pleasure, her eyes closed, letting the flavors melt and coat her tongue, feeling its warmth rush along her throat.

He sits down and she can practically feel him watching her, his gaze prickling her skin. She opens her eyes.

"I, uhm…" He fidgets, then holds out a slim rectangular package for her. "Brought you a gift."

She grins, hikes up an eyebrow teasingly. "What do you want, Castle?"

But he doesn't volley back, his smile mellow. "You had a bad week," he explains, and she reaches for the gift, warmed by his attentiveness. She smiles at him appreciatively before she runs her fingernail under the edges of the brightly decorated paper, pink and purple balloons and streamers. Birthday wrap. She grins a little, it's not even her half-birthday, then lifts off the tape that holds the wrapping together.

"I wanted you to have this." She looks up at his words, wonders why he seems so nervous. "I mean, I thought maybe you'd like to have it."

Folding away the paper reveals the back of a black picture frame. She turns it over; for a few moments she can't make sense of it and then her heart starts hammering, her blood rushing loudly in her ears.

"Castle," she whispers, stunned, staring at the images cornered within the black edges of the frame.

It is a newspaper clipping, its borders fuzzy from being ripped from its source, showing mostly a grainy black and white photograph with a small headline underneath.

_Lines formed for hours outside of Barnes & Noble on 5th Avenue as New York Times Bestselling author Richard Castle signed his latest book for his adoring, mostly female fans. _

And the young girl in the photo, captured just as she receives her signed book from the hands of Richard Castle, is her. Her profile clearly visible as she smiles at him shyly, her hair past her shoulders, tucked behind her ear, with thick bangs that covered her eyebrows, frizzy from standing for hours in the grey drizzle that had wrapped around New York that day.

"How…?" She exhales the question as she takes it all in, runs her fingertip over his image, still a boyish slimness to his features. It must've been a snapshot; she doesn't recall a picture being taken at the time

"Alexis and I were going through some stuff, cleaning and sorting and we found it. In one of my writing journals."

She runs her eyes across the rest of the frame; so overwhelmed at first by the unexpected visualization of her fond memory that she didn't consciously notice the rest.

"I used to just write down stuff, all the time," he explains quietly, "thoughts, ideas, whatever inspired me…"

The photo is tacked on to a piece of lined notebook paper, off-white in color and full of his handwriting; scribbles, words, phrases running along the sides of the clipping, underneath it, tilted, dancing hastily together, urgently falling off its lines.

"I had no idea," he says, sounds apologetic but no, she shakes her head, takes it all in, no. This is… magical.

Her heart hammers against her ribs, pounding so loudly that she wonders if he can hear it. She blindly reaches for him, covers his hand with hers while she still stares at his writing, can't tear her eyes away from his words.

His words. For her. About her. Before they ever truly met he had written words about her. She skims along his thoughts, traces the sharp skinny edges of his writing, her eyes welling with unstoppable tears as she takes in some of his unnervingly astute observations.

_gorgeous. wounded. strong. heart-stopping smile. eyes like a forest at dawn, moss and dew and oak. warrior. haunted._ _The moment she stepped into his life, his world tilted off its axis. He stops, stares. weight of the world on her shoulders. tall. surprising strength in her lithe body. cherries. soft. extraordinary. Beautiful girl, what happened to you?_

She sniffs, blinks her eyes up at him, her lashes heavy with clinging wetness and he is watching her quietly.

"I didn't even remember, Kate," he apologizes, his voice coated with a thin layer of regret, but she knows, she understands, she was one of tens of thousands, just a fan at a random book signing. She never expected him to remember.

Yet he had noticed her. He _saw_ her.

This man. This amazing, maddening, wonderful man.

Heat slices through her, hard and unexpected, clogs her throat with viscous need and she rises from her chair, tugs on his hand, decisive, urgent. Pulls him with her, through the bullpen, inside the elevator.

She stands, forces her body to stay stock-still, waits impatiently for the elevator doors to close, his breathing surprised and heavy, next to her in the enclosed space. While her stomach jitters, her fingers twitch against his and she can barely breathe through the heady expectation swirling between them.

And then the heavy doors slide into each other with a low thud and she whirls around, laces her arms around his neck. Pulling herself tightly against his body, she nudges her face into the crook of his neck.

Kate stills then, breathes him in, takes an infinite moment to soak up the inevitability of this moment, the wondrous magic that is them.

"Thank you," she whispers the words into his skin and he winds his arms tightly around her, exhaling with a moan of relief, insistent and heartfelt.

"How could I not remember you?" He asks, his voice incredulous as he murmurs into her hair and she tenderly runs her fingers along his neck, lifts her face to him.

He stares at her, his eyes mysterious blues that shine with admiration, drip with unabashed want and her heart slams against her ribcage, hard, exhilarated.

"Maybe you always have." Kate presses her palm against his heart, feels his heartbeat fast and strong. "In here." She scoots nearer, his mouth close, so close that she can feel the hot bursts of his breath against her lips. "Just as your words were always with me."

And then she closes the space between them, and kisses him. His mouth is warm against hers, soft and welcoming as he opens to her, and she tastes him tenderly, tugs his bottom lip between hers, then the top, her insides erupting with hot, breathtaking flutters.

He moans, a sound like her name on his lips, his fingers digging into her hair, tugging her closer and she delves deeper within him, tongue daring forward, seeking his, exploring his texture and flavor, enticing and wondrous and she melts into him, wanton and limber and flaring with heat. He meets her, intense and daring, holds her tightly to him until she can't breathe, gasping for air.

Castle kisses her lips softly, once, twice, calming touches; skims his fingertips along her cheekbones. "What did I say to you? In the dedication?"

She smiles brightly as she sees the words dancing in front of her inner eye, the memory as vivid as if it was only yesterday, even though the book has long since gone up in flames.

"You wrote," she starts, dances her fingertips up and down his chest in rhythm with the familiar words, and he watches her as she speaks, his eyes affectionate, adoring.

"_Kate, Live life as vibrantly as possible. Be free. And smile that beautiful smile. The world needs to see it."_

She kisses him once more, tenderly, lingers on his lips for a moment. "I think it's time that I do that."

.

_End of Scene_

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><p>.<p>

.

_**AN:** Let's just roll with the epically long, Grey's Anatomy-like elevator ride, 'kay? Thanks. :)_


	11. 11 Peace

**#11 Peace**

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><p>She goes on vacation by herself.<p>

He feels restless with it, caged in. One week of not seeing her seems like torture, each day an endless, dull, cruel drag.

But he brings her to the airport anyway, insists on dropping her off. Trying to hold on to her presence as long as he can, clingy and a little desperate but she lets him, smiles that tender smile that turns his insides to mush when she says 'okay.'

She turns to him at the security gates, the goodbye now inevitable and his throat clogs with ridiculous tears. Only one week, he tells himself, pushing down the cloying sadness of their separation, only one week. It's not like he has any claim on her as it is, and her leaving for a week-long break without him only emphasizes that fact.

But he's felt so close to her lately, her connection to him almost palpable in her wide, lingering smiles, her amusement with him, and the soft touches of her fingertips.

He takes her in, the long planes and angles of her shape, encased in sweat pants and a soft t-shirt, her feet slipped into a pair of purple flip-flops; she likes traveling in comfort. The sun-kissed waves of her hair tumble around her face and the slope of her shoulders, and he wants nothing more than to pull her into a tight embrace, aches to wrap his arms around her narrow body, keep her close, hold her safe, soak her in.

Instead he stands before her, arms uselessly dangling down by his sides, a fool in love, hopelessly at her mercy. He knows she needs this break, has vocally encouraged her to take some time to decompress, but now that it's here he wants nothing more than to un-say these words, and keep her with him instead. He is pathetic.

"Castle." Her plea draws him out of his reverie, her voice whisper-soft and he blinks, focuses on her face, her beautiful, ethereal face, the wide, amber eyes focused solely on him and the tender smile that plays along the corners of her mouth.

Kate reaches for him, cradles his large hand within the circle of her narrow ones, trails slow, enticing circles with her thumbs over the thin skin on the back of his hand. His skin is set on fire, the hot rush of her touch heating his blood, weakening his knees. It's not the first time she's ever taken his hand, but nothing with her is ever innocent, her caresses sure and purposeful as she undoes him by mere touch.

He can barely breathe.

She seeks his eyes, the glimmers of strength and determination unmistakable as she looks at him, squeezes his hand. His heart leaps, hammers against his ribs, the rush of hope hardly containable, spilling out with each burst of breath from his lungs.

"When I get back…" She promises. She leaves it there, doesn't finish, but he knows just the same.

* * *

><p>The sun is hot on her skin, her body lazy, sinking heavily into the bed of warm sand underneath her. Heat flimmers in the air, the horizon a hazy line in the distance, the blues of the sky blurring with the turquoise waters of the Carribean Sea. Kate stretches, listens to the loud rush of the shore that bursts and breaks against the cliffs framing the beach, its rhythm calming, lulling her senses. She hasn't slept as much in months as she has these past days, feels drowsy again even though it's only noon, her breath heavy in her lungs.<p>

She rolls onto her stomach, adjusts her hips into the giving warmth of the towel that covers the sand, and opens her book. It's all she's been doing since she arrived, sleeping, swimming in the ocean, reading. It took her about 24 hours to unwind; to not worry about home, about work, to not feel restless with inactivity, but then the charm of the quiet life captured her, the beauty and tranquility around her wrapping her in a drowsy cocoon.

She turns the page, the story familiar but the words capturing her all over again._ His_ words. She's brought her Kindle with her, filled with books she had been wanting to read for a long time but instead she's grabbed one of the three paperbacks that have traveled with her.

She's rereading their story.

Already in book three, she's devoured his words, the web he's been weaving, the remarkable, frustrating, maddening relationship he's drawn. With the benefit of hindsight, she's rediscovering her years with Castle between the pages, how they've become who they are. She smiles and she cries, laughs and sighs and shakes her head, and her heart leaps with the beauty of it.

Her eyelids drop of their own volition and Kate puts the book to the side, focuses on the feel of the sun soaking into her skin, its heat invigorating, revitalizing. A breeze ghosts across her shoulder blades, carrying the tang of salt and ocean.

Finally, she is at peace.

* * *

><p>She contacts him every day. Most days it's just one text message, or a picture she takes with her iPhone. With just her feet dug into the sand, only her toes peeking out, the blue nail polish sparkling in the sun. Or the bright bloom of a Hibiscus flower, its colors stark and lively nestled within the dark green bush. Or her Pina Colada, served with an umbrella in a coconut shell. Sometimes it's a few words.<p>

It isn't much, but she doesn't let him flounder.

He tries to write; goes about his day like he used to when he didn't spend most of it at the police precinct but he's bored, can't quite recall what he used to do with all his time.

He misses her presence, misses her smiles and the pealing sound of her laughter.

But Castle realizes, understands how she needed this time away, this reset of her brain. His heart races and a goofy smile spreads across his face every time his phone vibrates with a note from her. Things are changing, and he knows they are just on the cusp of something extraordinary, can feel it in every leap of his heartbeat, the rush of his blood through his veins.

She doesn't say it, but he knows she misses him too.

* * *

><p>The last minutes of her flight feel like an eternity, the plane finally descending, smoothly drifting through the cloud cover and she runs her fingers through her hair, untangling the curls. Her stomach flips and it has nothing to do with the motions of the plane. Her whole body is tingly, wired with anticipation, the curling strands of hope.<p>

Finally the airplane touches down and effortlessly slows, taxies toward their gate. Kate unclips her seatbelt with shaky fingers, and turns on her phone. She feels silly; she'll walk out and likely take a cab home but she can't stop the frazzled dance of her nerves because all she can think about is _not_ going home. She feels ready with it, invincible and invigorated.

She wants to see him.

The people in front of her are slow, mosey up the gangway and toward baggage claim and she brims with impatience. And then she has her suitcase and the automatic doors slide open in front of her-

And there he is. Her eyes find his in the crowd immediately, hold his gaze as a slow smile spreads across his face, warm and intimate and happy.

Kate stands for a moment, rooted to the spot, the blood rushing loudly in her ears, drowning out everything else. Everything but him.

Castle.

He came to pick her up. She wasn't sure he even knew her itinerary but there he is, waiting for her, the warmth of his presence almost palpable across the distance. He holds a helium balloon that reads 'Welcome Back' and it should be cheesy but it isn't, it's just everything she's ever wanted.

The smile stretches across her face, a well of warmth gurgles inside of her, vigorous and effervescent. Her feet move of their own volition, her legs striding toward him, faster and faster, not quite running but still a rush toward him.

She's done running away.

Kate stops in front of him, close enough that she can feel his warmth, strong and inviting, pulling her ever closer to him. She can barely breathe with it, the heady expectant lure of his presence.

He lifts a hand to her head, trails his index finger down the side of her face, over her cheekbone and down to her jawline, his touch so tender, so reverent that she wants to weep with it.

"Kate," he murmurs her name, his voice low, aching, and it's for her, all for her and she wells with it, the magic of their moment and she can't stop herself, no longer wants to. She leaps forward, wraps her arms around his neck, falls into the welcoming warmth of his embrace, nudging her face in the curve of his neck and he pulls her into him on a relieved groan, his arms strong, so strong around her, lifting her off her feet and into the broad wall of his chest.

She clings to him, breathing him in and he holds her just as tightly, pressing her body into his as if he wants to draw her inside of him. The thought sends a hot rush of warmth to her middle and she's never wanted anybody as much as him.

Kate nudges her nose to his jaw, grazes her lips over his neck, just the tease of a touch and he tenses with it, his breath hitching in his chest against her.

"Castle," she murmurs his name and when he turns toward her, his eyes dark and half-lidded, she finds his lips and kisses him. His lips are soft and she traces the shape with her tongue, tasting and nipping until he groans, opens to her, his tongue frenzied as he tangles with hers, invades her mouth, deep and exploring and so hot she aches with it. Her moan is strangled as it bursts from her chest and he soaks it up with his mouth, his arm tight against her lower back as he holds her to him.

He ends the kiss with a few more touches of his lips to hers, never quite breaking the contact while he lets her slide back down to her feet. She can't quite catch her breath and the smile stretches wide on her face, happy and elated and content.

Castle runs his down her face once more, trails his palm over the curve of her shoulder, his smile mirroring hers.

"Home?" He asks, takes her suitcase in his grasp.

Kate reaches for him, laces her fingers with his, watches how they intertwine, how they fit together, feeling his warmth seep through her skin just like the sun at the beach, warm and invigorating. She lifts her eyes from their entwined hands to his face, finds him looking at her, such adoration in his smile that it buckles her knees.

She can't help it, she kisses him once more, just a quick touch of her lips to his, tender and reaffirming. When his eyes blink open again she watches him, holds his stunned gaze, and smiles.

"Yes I am."

_End of Scene _


	12. 12 Learn to Fly

****AN: ****For this one, we're finding ourselves in season four; set after 4x14 'The Blue Butterfly.'

**#12 Learn to Fly**

* * *

><p>Okay, so he knows that he really, really shouldn't just assume when it comes to Kate Beckett but…<p>

The evidence is becoming more and more irrefutable by the minute, and he tries to curb it, he really does; after all he might be wrong and he's not sure how he'd even handle the disappointment if it turns out not to be true but- he just can't deny the excited little flip of his heart when he considers the only seemingly logical possibility...

Is she taking him out on a date?

He surreptitiously shifts his eyes to the left, stealth observant ninja, glancing at her while she drives but her eyes are focused on the road, her face composed, not giving anything away, her fingers relaxed around the steering wheel.

It's all just rather… curious. It's not overly rare that she'd drive him home after a day at the precinct, or even that she'd offer… But it's also not _that_ common.

And this is most certainly not the route to his loft.

"Staring again, Castle?" Her mouth pursed adorably, she gives him a quick glance, but her eyes are smiling.

"Just wondering why you're kidnapping me."

"Is that what I'm doing?"

"Well," he starts ticking off facts by his fingers. "Current evidence has you driving me to an unknown location, without my former consent …"

"I did ask you earlier today if you had plans for the evening," she interrupts distractedly, hitting the blinker and checking her mirrors to merge onto the interstate taking them further north.

"Oh really?" His eyebrows rise at her unintended confession and he bounces gleefully in his seat. "So that would make this… a date?"

"No…" But her voice is too breathless to make her denial plausible and he forges on, thrilled by this turn of events.

"On Valentine's Day?"

She actually blushes, a pink hue spreading from her neck up to her cheeks and he thinks this might be the most adorable she's ever looked.

"You know, if you wanted to ask me out, you could've just asked. I'm easy prey. No need to kidnap an innocent, unsuspecting man…"

"If you don't shut up right now, we're not going."

He shuts up.

* * *

><p>The humidity settles over his skin like a warm caress, damp as it soaks into his jacket and the strands of his hair. Lush greenery lines the paths, large flat leaves and fingered branches that encircle them, dotted with the vibrant colors of tropical flowers that fill the space with a sweet, exotic fragrance.<p>

And all around them, the air is alive with the hum and buzz of thousands of flapping wings. Butterflies of every form, size and color flutter and circle around them, enlivening their opulent home, gently settling onto plant leaves and flowers, dispersing in vivacious bursts with each disturbance.

Castle slowly turns a full circle, enraptured by the wide space of _The Dancing Wings Butterfly Garden_, a vibrant indoor rain forest with its glass ceiling and foliage reaching high and wide, the chirp of birds and the flittering dance of the vibrant butterflies everywhere. It's lush and breathtaking and just so _alive_ that his heart thuds powerfully in his chest.

"You coming, Castle?" She calls for him, glancing back at him over her shoulder, voice and smile so tender, so unassumingly inviting that possibilities he hadn't dared to hope for in months, maybe years, suddenly seem within reach, and he stumbles after her, all his words jumbled in his head, stuck in his throat.

* * *

><p>"It got to me too, you know," she admits over the roar of the waterfall, her hands wedged into her tight jeans pockets. "Their story."<p>

He's not surprised by the fact, merely that she admits to it; he'd seen how Vera and Joe's story had captivated her too, had seen the shimmer of sadness in her eyes when they thought the two had died, and her widened eyes and breathless smile when they sat across the elderly couple as they told their story, still so obviously in love.

A white butterfly lands softly on a palm frond before them, its span wider than both his hands and they watch it settle, lift and then rest its wings, and their hips almost touch as they stand side by side, the warmth of her body alluring.

"Made me think about all these things in life that are worth fighting for… Things that maybe you shouldn't put off…"

He watches her profile, the way her teeth graze her bottom lip, the way her eyes reflect the glare of evening sunlight that bursts through the glass roof, like liquid amber. "Is that why we're here?"

She turns, mouth opened in startled surprise and looking so vulnerable, almost fragile that his insides seem to contract with it, the blood pulsating beneath his skin. Silence hangs between them, charged and breathless and he aches to cradle his palm over her cheek, run the pad of his thumb along the tender, warm flesh of her bottom lip.

A butterfly flutters between their faces, the jumpy beats of its bright red wings startling them before it settles on his shoulder. A soft smile stretches her lips at the dazzling insect.

"Just thought you might like it here." Her fingers gently reach out, as if she wants to pet it; the butterfly startles, flies off but she leaves her fingertips resting on his shoulder for a long moment, her touch impossibly soft, burning through the fabric of his coat and shirt. She blinks and their eyes meet.

"You seemed to have developed a sudden hankering for blue butterflies."

* * *

><p>She hooks her middle finger around his just past the turtle pond, tugging him along with her as if it's the most normal thing in the world.<p>

* * *

><p>He kisses her underneath the high arch of a palm frond, with butterflies in her hair.<p>

They stepped into a thick swarm, the colorful bursts of wings all around her and she stands stock-still, her eyes sparkling, her smile widened in surprise, astounded as the insects calm, rest on her coat and in her hair; so breathtakingly gorgeous that his heart aches and there's no other thought, nothing else he can do but reach for her.

He curves his arm around her waist, cradles her face with his left palm, pulling her to him in one fluid motion as the butterflies startle and crowd them and his lips sink over hers. She's warm and soft, tastes familiar yet startlingly new, and then a small whimper escapes her mouth and she sinks into him, mouth opening to the seeking foray of his tongue. He finds her eager and ready, her back arched as her hips press into his, her arms looped around his neck; as she kisses him with abandon, playful and passionate and achingly sweet.

When at last he pulls away he's breathless, his knees weakened, his pulse thumping rapidly in his neck. Her lips are kiss-swollen, her eyes shining brightly, stunned arousal swirled with delight and he slides his thumb along the sharp rim of her cheekbone, caresses over the warm, damp curve of her lip, watching her as she melts into his touch.

"I definitely like it here."

* * *

><p>.<p>

_Late though it may be on this Valentine's Day, I'm sending out love eyeballs to all my wonderful readers and followers, reviewers and cheerleaders and friends. Thank you for your support and the joy you bring me in this fandom. _


	13. 13 Closer Than This

**AN:** Rough week; and feeling a bit forlorn. Here's a little happy; I needed that.

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><p><strong>#13 Closer Than This<strong>

When it finally happens, it is completely unexpected.

One moment she's laughing at his joke, a step ahead of him as they walk away from Remy's after lunch, the bright midday sun spreading warmth across her shoulders and the top of her head.

And the next he's kissing her.

His fingers gripped around her wrist he whirls her around, toward him; the laughter's still etched across her face as she tumbles into his arms and then his lips seal over hers, sipping at the width of her smile, his tongue sliding past her opened lips, slow and warm, almost agonizingly tender.

He's kissing her in the middle of the sidewalk on a random Tuesday, no warning or lead-up, just his lips on hers, sweet and exploring, his palm splayed wide across her cheek. Just the pillar of his body crowded against hers, with a throng of people parting around them, unfazed as only New Yorkers can be.

The sun is painting shimmering gold across her closed eyelids and for a moment she stands frozen, the world around her stilled in breathless anticipation. Her heartbeat throbs through her veins, tingles in her fingertips and down to her toes, flushes her cheeks pink.

Then he nips at her bottom lip and she gasps in surprise, sinks into his embrace, boneless, molten, her back arched against his arm that's firmly banded around her waist. He slides deeper into her mouth, his tongue curled around hers, a groan vibrating from his throat as he plays, teases, savors her. He tastes like salty fries and _him_ and she wonders inanely whether he can still taste the flavor of her strawberry shake that lingers in her mouth.

When he slowly pulls away she wavers on her feet, her eyes clamped shut, lips parted around her panting exhales. He trails his thumb along the rim of her cheekbone, caresses her damp bottom lip and her eyes flutter open. He's watching her, eyes impossibly dark against the stark bright blue of the afternoon sky.

"We should head back," he murmurs and she can't stop staring at his mouth, the way the words form on his lips, the way they glide off his tongue, roughened with latent desire.

"Or we'll be late."

He curves his palm around her elbow, guides her forward and she stumbles after him, her mind completely blank.

* * *

><p>He doesn't touch her again all day.<p>

He hovers close to her like he always does, brings her coffee, rearranges her pens by color and length, buzzes around her, laughs and talks; his face close when they theorize, his eyes shining with bright excitement - always so tantalizingly near and yet he avoids even the glance of a touch.

As if he hadn't grabbed her, hadn't kissed her senseless mere hours ago, as if his taste didn't still linger on her tongue. She longs for the feel of him, again and again and again, craves the soft touch of his lips, the needy, hot slide of his tongue, the heat of his solid body crowded against her chest, the tease of his fingertips along her jaw.

Yet he's staying frustratingly away, as if he's suddenly discovered what the boundaries of personal space actually are. No skim of a fingertip along her hand when he passes her a mug, no 'accidental' bump of her hip when he stands by her side in front of the murder board.

Nothing, _nothing_.

He's driving her absolutely crazy.

* * *

><p>By the end of the day, she feels like she's going to jump out of her skin. Her nerves are frayed, frustration rolling off her in waves. She can still sense the hum of his mouth over hers, the phantom flavor of his tongue lingering on her lips; her insides are jittery with suppressed need, spreading a tingling sensation from the back of her spine to her fingertips, the back of her knees, down into her toes.<p>

The yearning in her expands concentrically, consuming her body, overwhelming her senses until all she feels is this deep, contracting ache, until she's drowning in a scorching torrent of desire.

* * *

><p>She tackles him in the parking garage. Her fingers gripped around the lapels of his coat, she drives him backwards until his back connects with her car, the length of her body draped along his as she pulls herself close, closer. A breath rushes from his chest at the impact; his hands wrap around her waist automatically as his eyes widen, then darken with vivid longing.<p>

She stares at his mouth, the slant of his opened lips and her heart hammers against her ribcage.

She doesn't kiss him.

"Why did you do that?" She grits the words through her teeth, the blistering roll of want leaving her flushed, brave, frantic. "You can't just kiss me!"

His eyes flash, the grip of his fingers tightening around her waist and she sees the flare of protest in his stormy look and no, she didn't mean-

She presses her fingers to his lips, seals in the words before he can voice them. Watches his mouth, the clench of his jaw; her voice no more than a whisper. "You can't just kiss me and then stop."

She feels the gasp rush from his chest more than she hears it. "Kate…" There's yearning in her name as he strokes the vowels with the low rasp of his voice, hope and want in the dark blue of his eyes and she curls in closer to him, his broad body firm against hers, almost vibrating with suppressed energy. Her forehead, her nose, her mouth _almost_ touching his, so near that she can feel the heat of his skin seeping into hers.

She loosens her grip on his lapels; instead her fingers slide around his neck, softly curl into the short hair at his nape and he moans helplessly at her touch. She blinks up at him from under her lashes and she knows, she _knows_ that everything, every feeling and emotion, every repressed desire is laid bare on her face. No strength left to hold back. "Why did you kiss me?"

His fingers grip her tighter. "Because I want you, Kate. I want you so much, I can't breathe."

"Then take me, Castle." She hums the words against his lips, a challenge, a plea as the rush of his warm breath mingles with hers. _'I'm yours,'_ her thoughts fill in the blank space between the words and her deepest desires, the ones that roar in the pit of her stomach, try to geyser to the surface. _'I'm yours, I'm ready, I'm already yours.'_

Their eyes lock, hold; anticipation flares between them, sparkling, sizzling; almost palpable in the air. Her eyelids slide closed as her lips brush his.

"Take me."


	14. 14 Waiting to Exhale

_**AN: **I'm still traveling in Europe; finally on vacation but I'm behind on the latest Castle episodes and currently promo and spoiler-free... and blissfully angst-free in my little corner over here, so pssssst._ ;)

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><p><strong>#14 Waiting to Exhale<strong>

The air flitters with heat, the July sun burning hot onto the pavement, the humidity almost suffocating with each inhale, coating moisture onto every patch of skin. Castle swigs from the bottle of ice water in his hand, loosens the top button of his shirt that clings to him but that offers little respite.

In front of him, Beckett reaches around, groaning in relief as she lifts her thick, long hair off her neck and suddenly he forgets everything, the stifling heat and this seemingly never-ending day; any thought he may have had vacates his brain at the sight of Kate's neck, the pale stretch of skin revealed to him without her curls tumbling down her back. Her shirt seems soft, an airy sort of material that appears almost translucent as it skirts her shoulder blades, lightly dances down the length of her torso.

Her skin shimmers with a thin sheen of perspiration and it heightens her scent, cherry and almond and so unmistakably Beckett that his insides contract almost painfully, his ever-present want for her tugging sharply on his heart. His knees go weak; subconsciously he leans closer, closer to that alluring smooth plane of skin that he wants to taste, put his tongue against, paint the long line of her spine with the swirl of his touch.

Kate shakes her hair a bit, the strands creating a small draft that seems to skitter over her neck, making her sigh in relief and he can't help it, he just can't, he has no resistance left when it comes to her. He takes one more step, drawn to her as if he's pulled by invisible strings, until his body is close to hers, framing her from behind. His eyes are glued to her skin, he can't stop staring and then he leans forward and blows on her neck.

It's an extended, focused exhale that he pushes through his pursed lips, guides over her spine and the slopes of her shoulders, the air brushing along her skin. She shivers with it, inhaling a sharp, audible gasp and then she freezes, standing stock-still.

His heart thunders, leaps into his throat. He didn't think before he'd breeched the invisible line they'd drawn in the sand a long time ago, didn't consider the next step, the repercussions. The need for her is his daily companion, the subtext to his every thought, the thread that runs through every one of his days and he's aching with it, yearning for her like he's never yearned before and it's clouding his judgment.

Her body seems tight, every muscle tensed, almost thrumming with suppressed energy and yet she hasn't moved. She's still here, he realizes through the fog in his brain, standing unmoving before him, almost close enough to embrace. Not running, not scolding, just waiting, waiting.

They're paralyzed, suspended in this timeless moment, held captive by that crackle of energy humming in the air like after a strike of lightning, in that moment when you're waiting for the next thunderclap that you know will come.

He blows onto her skin once more.

Kate comes alive at the first whisper of breath that ghosts along her skin. She groans, drops her head down as he forces the air through his pursed lips, directing the cool bursts below her ears and the long line of her neck. Goosebumps erupt where his breath kisses her skin and his body flushes with heat that has nothing to do with the summer sun.

He follows the shape of her back, skittering his breath over her shoulder blades and the edge where her shirt caresses her skin, focused on cooling her down but enthralled by her every reaction to his proximity, so stunning and alive, and he longs to taste that tender curve of her neck.

Kate wavers on her feet and he grabs her around her hipbones, dropping his water in the process as he holds her steady. She sinks against him, a lithe pliable thing in his embrace. He nudges his nose against her nape, inhaling her enticing scent, her sweet softness and _Kate, oh Kate._

He thinks maybe he's said that out loud because she sighs, her voice laced with such longing that it shoots straight to his midsection; her whole body melting against his, thighs and hips and shoulders and wow, she's just... there's no resistance, just softness and sweet need and the realization is staggering, that she's aching, yearning for him just as much. He sinks forward, mouth to her top vertebra, nuzzling her skin, so sweet, her flavor cut by the contrasting tang of salt as he sips a bead of sweat off her skin with the tip of his tongue.

Kate comes up against him, all long lines and supple curves as she presses into him and Castle slides his hands from her hips underneath the edges of her shirt, bracketing her slim waist with his palms; she gasps and belatedly he remembers his chilled fingers from the bottle of ice water he'd held. Her skin is so soft against his fingertips, delicious beneath his lips; he hums into the curve of her neck while he teases his fingers up along the curve of her ribcage, feels her ribs expanding with every breath she takes.

And suddenly she's moving, turning within the parenthesis of his hands until her front aligns with his, and it's almost as if she's clicking into place against him. Her eyelids flutter open, a slow, stunning motion until her eyes are focused on him, bright and an almost translucent green, stealing all the air from his lungs.

Her lips are open, glisten in the golden sunlight and he squeezes her sides, needing her closer, closer, his heart stuttering in his chest. Her fingers grip into his shirt; her gaze flicks to his lips, then back to his eyes before she leans into him and he waits, anticipation thrumming through his veins, his lips tingling with it.

But she lowers her gaze instead, blows a long breath over the hollow of his throat. The cooler air brushes his heated skin and he shivers with it, relief and want and love rising within, her name a desperate plea that falls from his lips.

"Kate..."

And then her lips are on his, soft and hot and delicious, sipping his longing words into her mouth. Her fingers clasped around his neck she rises against him, her tongue meeting his with unleashed need. Her chest brushes against his and he curves a palm over her cheek, his other hand pressed to her back, fingers tripping up and down the arch of her spine as he kisses her in the bright, hot sunshine -

- and she kisses him back.


	15. 15 Blurred Lines

**#15 Blurred Lines**

Numbness spreads from his tailbone down, startling him into awareness. His leg is tingling uncomfortably when he shifts on the table, trying to adjust his position on the hard, unyielding surface. He blinks, attempting to clear his vision that's a little blurry from staring at the murder board in front of him for so long. How long has he actually been sitting here, his mind scrambling to come up with scenarios or solutions to this story that just makes no sense, but really just blurring, going hazy on him? He cracks his neck to the left, then to the right, the cartilages popping in his cramped up shoulders.

It's, oh wow, really late, he realizes as he checks his watch, just now noticing the silence of the bullpen, the darkness that has spread across the unoccupied desks surrounding him. The overheads above Beckett's desk and the murder board provide the only illumination as he surveys his surroundings.

In fact, where is Beckett anyway?

He carefully glides off the edge of the desk, checking his knees for steadiness, carefully shifting his weight onto the leg that is pricking him like tiny needles are being drilled into his skin as it sluggishly wakes up.

She'd been restless, unable to let it go, insistent that there had to be something, something they'd been missing, and so he'd stayed with her, of course he'd stayed, leaning beside her against the edge of the desk, eventually scooting onto it as they bounced theories back and forth, evaluated evidence, analyzed alibis, dismissed ideas. She'd felt so soft, her arm pressed into his bicep, her thigh just barely grazing his as they sat side by side, her body seemingly thrumming with suppressed energy, coiled with poised intelligence. Her scent had wrapped around him, warm and familiar, unconsciously yet irrevocably tethering him to her side.

He sighed, pushed down the viscous yearning climbing up his throat.

Coffee, that's right. She'd slid off the desk, announcing she was in dire need of a fresh cup, asking if he wanted one as well. He'd nodded absentmindedly, still caught up by a particularly fascinating and – in hindsight – maybe slightly far-fetched theory, and she had wandered off to the break room.

And she hasn't come back.

He heads toward the break room, trying to calm the sudden, nervous stutter of his heart, the anxious lurch of his stomach. He's being ridiculous, he scolds himself. This is a police precinct, there's no way harm could've befallen her within its thick, safe walls, right? Oh but what if she fell, broke something, hurt herself, is bleeding or in pain? No, he would've heard; wouldn't she have called him for help? The blood is rushing in his ears and he strides faster, quickly crossing the distance, drawn forward by the low light filtering through the blinds of the room's windows, like a beacon in a stormy night.

Once at the door he freezes, for just a second, trying to tamp the vigor flowing through him that makes him want to shoulder through, burst in and be her knight in, well, slightly wrinkled armor. Instead he takes a deep breath, preparing himself for whatever he may find on the other side, and slowly pushes it open.

His breath vacates his body in a thick rush, relief swapping through him like a wave as his eyes find her in the dimly lit room. He has to lean against the doorway, calm his still-shaking knees while he gazes at her- stares, really, eyeing her up and down and up again. He feels a tender smile spread across his face, warmth climbing to his cheeks as he carefully pushes off the door frame, ambles forward, drawn toward her.

She's curled up on the break room couch, lying on her side with her knees drawn high, almost up to her chest, and her ankles crossed. Her cheek is pillowed on her hand and her face relaxed, cheeks rosy and lips slack.

She's sound asleep.

And just so incredibly beautiful. There's an ache that spreads through him at the sight, contracting his abdomen, leaving his mouth parched. The tumble of her hair looks like spun gold against the dingy couch, the curve of her thick eyelashes so dark against her cheekbones, rimming the pale skin of her eyelids that seem almost translucent, so vulnerable that it calls to him, some place deep inside. She looks tiny, curled in on herself like a tight ball, her slim limbs drawn to her torso protectively, and he resolves that first thing tomorrow, he's going to buy a new couch for this break room and he won't take no for an answer.

He'd give her anything, _everything_, aware that a new couch is likely the only thing she'd actually let him give her.

He contemplates that maybe he should wake her; she can't possibly be comfortable pressed into those lumpy cushions with dents in all the wrong places and springs poking through the stuffing. She'll be sore later and he should make her go home (not that he can _make_ her do anything but still!) He knows she needs a good night's rest but- he can't do it. He can't physically make himself disturb her peaceful slumber.

He looks around, coming up short in his search, and he shrugs out of his suit jacket. It's the closest there is to a blanket. Leaning over her he carefully drapes the jacket on top of her, drawing it all the way up to her neck, the thick shoulder pads enveloping her on either side. She's folded up so small that the bottom of his coat reaches all the way to her ankles, with only her toes peeking out from beneath.

Kate doesn't startle, doesn't move at all and he can't help himself, her tranquil face a siren song he just can't tune out. He reaches out slowly, his fingertips tingling when he swipes an errant curl off her cheek, pushes it behind her ear. Her skin is like warm silk and he lingers, just for one moment, gently brushes his fingers against the tender patch behind her ear and along the rim of her jaw.

She mewls, tilting her head into his touch, eyes still firmly closed. His heart hammers; he quickly withdraws his hand but before he can lift away from where he is perched above her, her arms rise from underneath the coat. She circles her hands around his neck, fingers gripped into the hair at his nape and her arms sleep-heavy as they drape over his shoulders, drawing him down, down, down and pulling herself up at the same time.

And then her lips are pressed to his and she's kissing him, her mouth soft, so very soft over his. She glides against him, nipping his bottom lip, the tip of her tongue brushing out and over before her lips are smudged to his once more. She hums, murmurs something unintelligible into his mouth and he opens for her, inexorably drawn to her, his tongue meeting hers in gentle caresses. Each touch a bit sloppy with sleep, but so sweet, so _devoted_ that his knees buckle, his skin flushing with the rush of blood through his veins, the coil of heat low in his midsection.

Kate smiles against his mouth, kisses him once, twice more, gentle brushes of her lips against his before her fingers loosen around his neck, slipping off his shoulders while she heavily sinks back into to the couch.

"G'Night, Castle," she slurs, her head lolling to the side, her arms falling to rest on either side of her head, fingers curled just so. Her eyes are closed; she's breathing deeply, her lips slack, still glistening with the remnants of their kiss.

She's sound asleep.


	16. 16 Everlasting

**#16 Everlasting**

He turns at just the right moment.

He doesn't know how he knows, but he does. So attuned to her, innately conscious of her presence, every one of his senses humming with awareness. He turns to her before the first note of music even reaches his ears.

She's a vision.

Haloed by the golden light streaming in through the side windows, surrounded by sparkling speckles of dust, like twinkling fairies flittering around and around, as joyous as this day.

He sounds sappy even to his own ears but he doesn't care one bit.

His eyes roam, take in the thick, caramel waves of her hair that tumble over her shoulders, caress the soft swell of her cleavage and her beautiful collarbones. The alluring play of her muscles as she moves; gentle ripples and waves beneath her porcelain skin. The sparkle in her eyes, gold like the light that floods the room, and the wide, absolutely breathtaking smile that stretches her lips.

His hand flies to his chest, fingers splayed as if to contain the pounding of his heart, his breath stalled in his lungs.

She's never looked as beautiful as this, right here, in this moment.

Her dress hugs her torso as if painted onto her skin, the skirt smoothing down her hips, then falling wide and wider to the floor. The fabric rustles with every measured step she takes, somehow louder to him than the music that accompanies this day, the brush and caress of shimmering silk and crackling lace bringing her closer. Closer and closer.

To him.

Butterflies flap and flurry inside of him, so strong that he can barely contain it; he wants to giggle, laugh out loud at the pure, effervescent joy that wells through him.

Instead he smiles, smiles and smiles, his lips so wide that he feels the stretch of his cheeks and the crinkles grooved into the corners of his eyes.

And then she's by his side and he soaks her in, her familiar scent and the spice of excitement, that spark in her wide eyes and the shimmer of her lips. All of her suffused with happiness that seems to radiate from the inside out.

He folds her slim fingers into his larger ones, presses a barely-there kiss to her cool fingertips. Her lashes lower, a soft sigh escaping her before she looks at him again, her smile alive with joy, and determination, and love.

He can't stop staring at her, this ethereal being, this extraordinary woman standing here with him.

Everything around him disappears, nothing but a blurry backdrop of colors, lights, sounds, words, his sole focus on her. His knees are weak, his heart races, every part of him giddy with excitement and yet humbled by the timeless symmetry, the perfect cadence of this moment, the magnitude of every reverent word, every touch and step and motion. His hands are steadier than he expected, his voice calm; certain.

She smiles at him, bright and delighted and a little mischievous as she cradles his cheek in her palm and murmurs. "Ready for this?"

He leans in closer, his forehead resting against hers while he wraps an arm around her back, drawing her into him. His fingers rest in the subtle arc of her spine, the heat of her skin warming the soft white silk beneath his fingertips.

Everything within him is quiet now, settled; at peace. "I've been ready for you my entire life."

She sighs, like a surge of yearning that wells from deep, deep within her as she closes the final, minuscule breadth of distance, and presses her mouth to his.

He tastes the longing on her lips, tastes her smile and her devotion as he kisses her, tender and reverent. He worships her mouth like he promised to worship her for the rest of their lives. Caresses, sips and tastes, soft so soft, infusing this kiss with the depth of his feelings, the entire world of his love spread before her in this perfect, mellifluous, infinite kiss.

Their first kiss as husband and wife.


	17. 17 Ineffable

(episode insert for 2x18, 'Boom')

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><p><strong># 17 Ineffable <strong>

* * *

><p>Somehow she's not even surprised by the lone figure seated in the easy chair by the side of her bed, silently watching over her in the dark.<p>

She expected to be rattled by nightmares, jarred awake with her heart racing, flames licking behind her eyelids and the taste of scorched flesh on her tongue.

Instead she's drifting into awareness, slow and tentative, her breathing calm, limbs heavy in the sheets. Maybe it's the sinfully comfortable mattress, the pillows and comforter soft like cotton clouds, or the sheer exhaustion and shock of the past few days catching up with her but she was out the moment her head hit the pillow, fell into a heavy, dreamless sleep.

It can't be much later than four a.m. and the bedroom still lies subsumed by darkness. Thin slivers of silvery light sneak through the closed shutters, providing the only illumination and it takes her a few moments to make out more details. The way he's leaning forward in the chair, elbows dug into his knees, chin resting on his steepled fingertips. The way his eyes lie on her and yet she instinctually knows he's focused inward, drifting, thinking, maybe writing; she's certain it hasn't registered that she's awake. The thick window panes muffle all outside sounds, make his breathing seem loud in the inky-black silence but it's calm, a lulling rhythm that matches the sluggish thrum of her heart.

"Watching me while I sleep, Castle?" Her words seem to fracture the quiet, low and rough with sleep. He startles and she can sense his body tensing, focusing on her, his eyes stark.

"That's a whole new level of creepy..." She hums, doesn't really mean it. No exasperation in her voice; she doesn't have the energy for it when the truth is, she feels calmed by his presence- safe.

"Yeah, uhm, sorry I..." He stumbles over his words, drops his head self-consciously, runs his fingers through his hair. It must not be the first time tonight either because the strands are disheveled, sticking up in all directions.

"You okay?" She sits up slowly, tucking the comforter around her chest to ward off the chill that creeps over her still-warm skin, sweaty beneath her t-shirt. His quiet is disconcerting, throws up all sorts of flags.

"Shouldn't I be asking you that?" He grins but it's half-hearted, and it aches her in unexpected ways.

She swings her legs off the bed, leaves the blanket behind as she rises, drawn forward by the forlorn man sitting before her. It takes a mere two steps until she stands in front of him, her legs bracketed by his knees on either side but his head remains low and her insides tighten with trepidation.

"Hey. Castle, look at me." His eyes lift to hers, so much sorrow swirling in their depths that it steels her breath. This is the man behind the façade, the playful, devil-may-care attitude dropped to reveal the true depths of his heart, the unspoken, unacknowledged dread that had taken hold. And she gets it. He thought he watched the lights go out, believed he was too late, nothing to do but watch the flames engulf her right in front of him. This kind of terror lingers, doesn't just go away. Guilt gnaws at her for the mere fact that he chose her as his muse and that - if she's truly honest with herself - she's no longer willing to give him up.

Gently, with her fingers shaking, she brushes the ridge of his jaw, his stubble sharp against the whorls of her fingertips.

"I'm here, Castle," she whispers, lets her fingers travel into his hair, scrape his scalp in soothing circles, dip to the back of his neck. "I'm fine." His skin feels softer than she would've imagined, so warm to the touch. "You _saved_ me."

He buries his face into her stomach with a choked sob, his hands gripping her waist, fingers spanning wide over her ribs, digging into her flesh. She sways a little, a startled breath tumbling from her mouth at the sudden pressure to her abdomen but his hold is tight, keeping her in place.

"Shhh, it's okay, shhh" she murmurs inanely, her hands curled into his hair. He trembles, his breathing a shaky, heavy thing. Damp warmth seeps through the fabric of her shirt, blooms across her skin. He's clinging to her, mouth and nose and forehead nuzzled to her, breathing her in. Heat races through her veins, flushes her cheeks, centers low within her, surprising in its ferociousness.

She squashes it down- _not now Kate, not the time_- clamps her arms around his neck and the breadth of his shoulders as she cradles him to her. With her body bowed over him she absorbs the tremors that wreck his solid, so strong frame.

"I'm fine, it's alright, I'm fine…" The words seem futile but she says them anyway, over and over, her cheek pressed to the top of his head and her heart hiccupping in her chest. He ran into a burning building to save her, literally right into the line of fire, with no regard for himself, just for _her_ and she feels ill-equipped to handle it, has no words to express the overwhelming surge of tangled, bewildering emotions. But she can give him this, the comfort of her arms around him, the steady beat of her heart and the rise and fall of her chest pressed against him with every breath that she takes.

She can't tell how long they stand entwined like this as the darkness swallows any meaning of time, the cadence of his breathing soothing her senses. At last his grip around her loosens, just slightly, space crawling between his face and her stomach. She misses his warmth instantly.

She adjusts, her arms slackening around him as she straightens her posture, her knees unlocking painfully. His face lifts to her, his eyes tracking her every movement and her heart starts racing. They're so dark, endlessly deep and she feels like she's drowning in him, in the profound yearning he's no longer hiding behind layers of teasing and innuendo, the unmitigated desire that sets her on fire from the inside out. His fingers climb the ladder of her spine, thumbs circling at the curve of her ribs. She shivers, her eyelids fluttering as her knees go weak.

"Kate." He sighs her name, want warring with the haunting sadness in his voice and she curves her hand to his face, fingers playing at the ridge of his cheekbone, the tender patch of skin below his ear. His eyelids lower, his lips falling open on a breathy exhale and she lowers her face, fits her mouth to his.

It's slow at first, a little shy as her lips brush his, the tip of her tongue snaking out to explore the shape of his mouth, to savor the layers of his flavor, tasting mint and man and the lingering traces of tears. She has to swallow down the lump that forms in her throat- they're okay, they're fine, they're _here- _draws his bottom lip between hers, tugging on the soft flesh just _so_ and he comes alive beneath her. A raw groan rushes through him as he opens for her, meeting her, seeking and giving, drawing from her like he is a parched man and she his water. She moans, can't help it, the blood roaring through her veins and pounding in her ears, her lips, her fingertips.

His fingers nudge at the back of her knees and she lets her legs buckle, smoothly glides into his lap like this isn't the first time they do this. Her thighs bracket his hips and then it's slow and profound, the angle just perfect for their lips to caress, for his tongue to curl around hers, to feel his moans against her lips and the frame of his warmth, for his broad palms to brace her back, her neck, holding her safe, holding her close.


	18. 18 Dare You To Move

**#18 Dare You To Move**

* * *

><p>Kate paces, back and forth, back and forth again, her fingers knitted together, the pads digging into her own flesh so that her knuckles whiten. Tries to cling to the last vestiges of her confidence that had propelled her here; desperately needs it to push her forward.<p>

Because she just couldn't stop thinking about it.

She'd finally made up her mind and then it didn't stop niggling and nagging her, tormenting her mind, shoving her out of her self-imposed inertia until she'd found herself here when it's barely 9 o'clock in the morning on her day off.

Sucking in a deep breath, she lets the air seep from her lungs deliberately even though her heart is pounding and her insides are jittery with nerves while she unknots her hands, balls them to fists, squeezing some circulation back into her knuckles, delaying, delaying and why is she so pathetically nervous? There's no reason, right? It's not that hard, she can do this, _do it, Kate, just do it do it do it!_

She does it, leaps forward that last step. And knocks.

It's quiet, so quiet for too long, the rush of blood in her ears the only sound she can hear while her mind wars within her. Still time to leave, she could escape unseen but no, no, she's come so far, can't leave now when she's so close.

In for a penny, she encourages herself with an aloofness she doesn't feel, raps her knuckles against the thick wood once more, louder, insistent, _come on please come on come on_ and then the door swings open.

"Beckett?"

All the air rushes from her lungs, her mouth suddenly desiccated while her arm sinks from its raised position in an almost comical slow-motion. He looks... delectable. Standing before her just in sweats and a black V-neck t-shirt, his hair adorably mussed and his face still bearing the signs of sleepiness, scruff blooming at his jawline.

There's surprise in his voice but it's the good kind, she thinks, a little bit of the excited-kid sparkle flaring in his eyes, like she's his play-date coming over for a visit and oh god no, she can't think of it that way. Heat rushes into her skin, flushes her cheeks and she swallows, tries to push away the reel of images that her so-not-helpful mind conjures up at the thought of what a playdate might entail between the two of them.

"Can we talk?" She starts, then bites her lips in frustration because already she's getting this all wrong. He sobers instantly, concern creeping into the stark blue of his eyes and no, that's not-

"Sure, yeah, come on in. Would you like some coffee? Breakfast?" He babbles, moving back for her to step inside and she can practically see the worry knotting behind his forehead. Panic surges through her; this isn't what she meant, not how this was supposed to go at all. She reaches for him, at once needing to reel him back in, fingers clawed into his shirt, dragging him forward. Her momentum makes him stumble into her, his eyes widening as they slide to hers and they're so blue, so deep and beautiful like the ocean at dusk. It grounds her and she breathes, a ragged-sounding exhale as she takes a moment, just a second to find her focus, her center because she needs to get this right.

And then she says it, deliberately and with purpose, the thing that didn't let her go, that makes her heart race and her insides flip, that brought her here at 9 a.m. on a random Saturday morning.

"Would you go out to dinner with me?"

He stares. "Out... like a date?"

She nods, smooths her fingers over his chest where she's wrinkled his shirt, feels his heart pounding beneath her fingertips, his ribcage rise and fall with every breath. He looks slack-jawed with surprise, like he can't quite believe this is real and oddly it is that which fills her with a surge of confidence.

"Yes. I'd like to take you out on a date."

And then his cheeks spread wide from his breathtaking smile that breaks through him, the sparkle unmistakable in his eyes, his voice humming with it. "Yes. I'd love to."

It's a bit like she's unfurling from the inside out, her answering smile just as wide with the rush of happiness, the frissons of excitement that reach and curl into every part of her. "Tonight okay?"

"Tonight," he nods. And he keeps looking at her with so much warmth in his eyes, his gaze never wavering from her face, joy practically radiating from him and she's the reason for that, she realizes, she gave him that. It's almost overwhelming and a shiver runs down her spine, her blood racing through her veins. Her fingertips tingle where they rest over his chest and she reflexively curls her fingers, watches his eyelids flutter and a sharp breath fall from his mouth.

She leaps again. And presses her lips to his.

She only meant to kiss the corner of his mouth but his lips are so soft against hers and she'd been dreaming about kissing him a lot lately and it's unstoppable, overwhelming and beautiful. She samples his flavor, hums around his plump bottom lip and then his arm bands around her waist, drawing her in, tight so tight as she rises to her toes, wraps her hands around his neck, fingers gripped in his hair. His mouth opens to her with a moan she can almost taste, his tongue teasing and seeking and finding all of her and she whimpers, meets him, fueled by the coil of desire unspooling within her.

When at last they break apart they're breathless, their lips kiss-swollen. He rests his forehead against hers, his fingers still gripped to her waist, holding her close.

"Isn't this part supposed to come after the first date?"

"Eh," she shrugs, grins against his lips. "Since when have we ever been conventional about anything?"

"True," he nods, smiling at her and brushing a lock of her hair back behind her ear, his fingertips lingering on her neck, every touch and look and smile reverent, so loving that her heart leaps frantically.

She leans in for a last kiss, just a peck of her lips to the corner of his mouth, a brush of her fingertips down his cheek and then she resolutely tears herself away because if she won't leave now, she won't leave at all.

Walking toward the elevator she sways her hips just a little more than usual, aware that he's watching her every step, her skin prickling under his gaze. She can hardly wait for their date, for every moment yet to come, the future a tangible, exciting thing and she's ready.

She turns her head to look over her shoulder, finds him still standing there like she expected, leaning against the doorjamb as if his legs alone won't hold him steady.

"I'll pick you up at seven."


End file.
